


Awake

by paperflowercrowns



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Coma, F/M, Physical Therapy, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2447318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperflowercrowns/pseuds/paperflowercrowns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last three years of Sansa Starks life has been spent in a coma. Every single person she's dreamed of exists in the real world, though many events are extremely different. Yet she finds herself drawn to finding out about Sandor Clegane in this world, to see the man he's become out from the thumb of the Lannisters. </p><p>For the last three years Sandor Clegane has had very vivid dreams of living in medieval times, of serving a vicious boy king, and of a red haired maiden whom he's inexplicably drawn to. He knows these dreams are more than that, and wants to understand this connection better when he lays his eyes on Sansa Stark.</p><p>Authors Note 7/26/2015!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

BEEP.

Sansas head was swimming, her whole body heavy with the effects of dreamwine and most certainly milk of the poppy. She could feel the warmth of the blankets her handmaid must have covered her with, and in the background she could make out whispered murmurs. She was surprised to feel herself resting on her back, for that was where Ser Meryn Trant had beaten her on King Joffreys latest whim. 

BEEP.

Mayhaps she had been sleeping longer than a few hours then. She could not smell the earthy scent of the poultice that one of the younger maesters had applied to her wounds, before she had fallen to sleep from the dreamwine Shae had made her drink. All for the better, it would allow her skin some time to heal before her next beating. There was always a next beating, always a treason of her kins to answer for, no matter how often she renounced her family in front of the court. She could hardly remember what the cause of this last one was for. Some battle won by her kingly brother Robb, or her lordly Uncle Edmure, and she was here to take the punishment at the ire of her king Joffrey. 

BEEP.

It was always her back that was beaten, or her legs. Her stomach a few times, until she'd had too many ribs broken by the mailed fists of the Kingsguard. Lord Tyrion could not stop the beatings outright, the king wold never allow that, least he wanted his head on a spike where her lord fathers had been. However he was able to insist no beatings to her stomach, for one day she was to bear the king his children, and she'd be no use if they damaged her beyond being able to carry a child. There were two things King Joffrey wanted of his guard when they beat his betrothed. First was to keep her pretty, the second was to not damage her beyond repair, for he needed heirs someday, so not a single hand had touched her face, and no longer her stomach. It was a small blessing, and a minor comfort.

BEEP.

She thanked the old gods and the new that not all of Joffreys men beat her. Sandor Clegane, the fearsome Hound, had never so much as lifted a finger in her direction when she was punished. Sansa had hoped it was because the Hound had always been oddly gentle with her, almost as if she was porcelain, and would break in his hands, that deep down the warrior had some affection for her. In all likelihood, it was because she would be no use to the crown if she were dead. Gentle as he may be with her at times, there was a rage within him that could be unpredictable. She had seen him many times in the training yard, men-at-arms and knights the same being vanquished by his superior skills. One hit from him would surely break her in half.

BEEP.

That would do no good, she thought to herself. Her lady mother and kingly brother held King Joffreys uncle Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, as a prisoner of war in Riverrun. If something, anything, happened to Sansa while held by the crown, Ser Jaimes life would be forfeit. Queen Cerseis twin brother was far too precious to trade for Sansa though, the best knight in the land was not an even trade for his sister in Robbs eye. 

Not even BOTH his sisters, though Sansa doubted that the public or her brother knew that Cersei and Joff no longer held Arya. Her lady mother would be beside herself to know that not only had her lord husband been killed by the Lannisters, but that her youngest daughter had been lost in the ensuing chaos of the sacking of the Hands quarters in the Red Keep.

BEEP.

She could hear more voices in the background now. Sansa found it hard to believe that the queen or the king would come and visit to check upon her well being, but if she had been asleep for a few days, maybe the queen was the slightest bit worried. One of the voices sounded vaguely of her lord father, the disgraced Hand of King Robert, deemed a traitor and punished to death by beheadment with his own Valyrian steel greatsword Ice. Sansa had fallen on her knees in front of the court to beg for her fathers life, pleading for mercy, and they took his head anyway, calling his quick death mercy enough. Surely she must still be feeling the effects of the poppy, for she had seen her lord fathers head upon the battlements, and he was no longer here to protect her from the evils of this world.

BEEP.

Her eyes were heavy and her throat was dry. How many days had this induced sleep been upon her? She did not wholly feel like herself, but instead more than herself. She could feel her long hair swept to the side, but it felt fuller and longer than it did a few days ago. There was an itch at her hand that would not go away, but she simply lacked the strength to scratch it herself. Her arms and her legs felt longer and thinner than before, but she had been growing at an alarming rate. 

She was nearly a woman grown, already flowered, and receiving many looks from the men at court for her figure in her too small dresses. Once she was awake she would seek out Lord Tyrion, to ask about having gowns made befitting to her station and betrothal to the King. It was only proper, she was highborn and it was unseemly to be wearing gowns in such a state.

BEEP.

Another voice in the background jumped out to her. This one sounded of her lady mother, but surely it was not her. She was leagues away in Riverrun, with her own lord father, Sansas grandfather the Lord Hoster Tully, leige lord of the Riverlands. They say Lord Hoster is in his death bed, and has been for many months prior, and that her lady mother has taken up vigil at his side.

Sansa did not understand why her mother would have chosen to leave Bran and Rickon in Winterfell with Maester Luwin, Bran only recently awaking from his fall and Rickon was too young to be without his mother. Her mothers house words were Family. Duty. Honor. so certainly she must have felt she was doing the right thing, even if Sansa wholeheartedly disagreed. Her lady mother should have stayed in Winterfell with her brothers, not ridden off to war with Robb. He was King of the North now, not a babe at the breast to coddled, and far better a king than Joffrey, she was certain. Sansa saw the way Cersei kept Joff close, and she knew that it did him no good.

BEEP.

If only she could open her eyes, she could see who was in her chambers with her. She breathed in deeply though her nose, taking in the fresh, clean scent that surrounded her. It tickled her nose a little bit, as if something was stuck up there. She tried to lift a hand to rub the itch away, but it fell uselessly back on to her bed. 

And suddenly all the voices stopped at once, an eerie silence befalling the room. Just as suddenly, all the voices started again, some calling for help, while some called her name. She felt a cool familiar hand on her face, and then another one, though less familiar prodding at her stubbornly shut eyes. 

BEEP.

“Sansa, darling. My sweet girl, please. Please wake up Sansa. You can hear me, I know it love. Just please open your eyes!” The voice that belonged to her lady mother plead. 

BEEP.

All at once Sansa felt her energy come back to her. 

Her mother was here! She had come to rescue her, to take her far away from this horrible Red Keep. Robb had won the war, and she had been asleep for weeks instead of days with her injuries. Her brither had surely slain that evil boy king and his mother, placed their heads on spikes, and taken the Iron Throne as his own. 

They would take her back to Winterfell, to her brothers, Maester Luwin, the Godswood, to the warm walls of the keep that was her home. And they would find Arya, for she must be alive somewhere, all the searching that the Lannisters had done had never found a trace of her. It was all too joyous for her to think of the wonderful things that already and would happen now that her family was here.

BEEP.

Her mind could not help but think of Sandor Clegane however. Would his brother have killed the Hound, the Lannisters dog as he were, for serving his liege as faithfully as Robb wold expect of his own bannermen? 

Mayhaps he was a prisoner, and Sansa could beg for his life as she did her fathers. Robb would listen, unlike Joffrey, and he would believe her when she said that he never hurt her, was only gentle in touch even if he was harsh in words. He was a mighty warrior, and Robb could use his sword. Yes, that's what she would do, she would beg for his life if he was still alive. 

BEEP. 

Blinking once, twice, and then a third time, Sansa slowly opened her eyes. 

And there she was, her lady mother Catelyn, her auburn hair swinging loosely around her shoulders. Tears filled her Tully blue eyes, and a smile graced her features. She looked older than Sansa remembered, but she had not seen her mother in many years. War was a terrible thing, stressful, and near enough to age anyone. 

BEEP.

Her mother threw her arms around her shoulders, the tears falling freely. Sansa cried as well herself, hugging as tightly as she could, through something was hindering her to moving freely. 

“My sweet girl! You're awake Sansa! We've been hoping and praying for this moment for years my love. When Dr. Luwin said your scans had been showing more activity than normal, we could only hope you'd be waking up soon. Oh my darling, we're so happy to have you back.” Her mother sobbed into her shoulder.

BEEP.

Sansa tried talking, to comfort her mother and reassure her that everything was alright, but found something was hindering her ability to do such. She raised her hands to her mouth and found a tube of some sort sticking in it. For a moment she was unsure of what it was made of, but then the word came back to her in a flash. Plastic.

BEEP.

She had similar tubes sticking up her nose, and out of her hand. Looking around her room, she suddenly realized it was not her bedchambers in Maegors Holdfast that she was in. Her eyes were big with shock as she took in her surroundings, different things.. oh... machines they were called, crowded her bed. Comfortable looking chairs were pushed by the wall, coats and bags lay disregarded on the floor. The walls were stark white, and the blinds were closed to hold out the light. There was a... a... television.. hanging on the wall making no sound. Her mind was reeling, as bits and pieces of the past came back to her in flashes.

BEEP.

Her brothers, Robb, Bran and Rickon. Her cousin Jon. Her sister Arya. Winterfell, the large estate her family owned, where she would ride horses with her family, and play with their large wolfdogs. She remembered going to school, singing in the choir, taking a sewing class because she wanted to learn to make dresses for herself. 

She remembered other things. Her father loosing his head in front of her. The Hound telling her how he got his burns. Her direwolf Lady being commend by the Queen. King Joffrey having her beat by his Kingsgaurd. The horrible bells tolling when King Robert was killed by a boar. The bread riots, and Sandor Clegane saving her from would be rapists, telling Lord Tyrion that he didn't do it for him, and wondering what he meant by that. 

BEEP.

Which world was real? Had the last three years merely been a dream? Try as she might, she cold hardly remember life in the keep before her father had taken her brothers and his ward Theon Greyjoy out to behead the Nights Watch deserter. Was that all some elaborate fantasy her brain had built, so she could cope with whatever trauma was inflicted on her? She was so confused, and clearly her mother had noticed that.

“Sansa, my sweet. Your father went to get Dr. Luwin. I'm sure you have many questions about what's going on, we will answer them. They are going to need to check you out first. And take out your feeding tube before you can talk again. Do you understand my love?” Her mother asked her, shaking her head in reassurance.

BEEP.

So it was her fathers voice she heard. This must not, cannot be a dream. How she has longed to see her lord father, ever since he had been taken to the black cells in the Red Keep. How horrible she had been to him, when he tried to end her betrothal to the prince and take her and Arya home north. 

Sansa managed a weak smile, the best that she could, and shook her head to indicate she understood what her mother had told her. She laid back on her bed, closing her eyes as if it would help the thoughts rushing in her head. She would have answers soon, and find out what happened to her that she's lost this much time asleep.

BEEP.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been eight days since she had woken up. Eight long days of tests, appointments, visits with psychologists, nutritionists, and various doctors. Everyone had the same story to tell her. She had fallen while riding her horse on the estates trails and hit her head. Her parents had opted to place her in a medically induced coma in order to let the swelling come down from her brain, but when the doctors had taken her off the medication, she simply did not wake up. Three years she lived in that coma, aging from 14 to 17 in the time span. As things were, she was nearly to her 18th birthday, only a few short months away.

Sansa also got to see all her siblings, how they had grown and the people they were becoming. Robb was in college already, as was her cousin Jon. Arya was in the 10th grade, Bran in 8th, and little Rickon in the 5th grade. Sansa herself should have been in her senior year of high school, making plans for college, but as things were, she would have to put off any thought of her future for now.

Thankfully things were starting to piece together for her. Her father was not a lord, but merely a business man who was respected and well off financially. There was no War of the Five Kings, and in this reality Stark & Co. had decided not to merge with Baratheon & Baratheon Associates after Sansa had her accident. Ned and Cat had agreed that with Sansa in a coma, and Bran being in a wheelchair meant they were needed more at home and the hospital, so the family business came second to their children. She had never been betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon either, yet her sister confided in her that she once harbored a massive crush on the boy.

The bread riots never happened either. She had never been saved by a man named Sandor Clegane, and as far as her knowledge went, she'd never met a man with that name either. She had wanted to ask about him, to see if he really existed, or if she had made the scarred warrior up in her head. It made sense for him to be real, since everyone else in her dreams seemingly existed in this reality. She had made her mind up to ask her father the next time they had a moment alone, it would cause too much concern for her mother, and Arya lacked the ability to be discreet. 

But today, today she would get to go home. In a wheelchair, and with a nurse of course, but she would be back with her family once again. Her mother feared it was too soon, but Dr. Luwin insisted that she was getting stronger by the day and as long as she attend her appointments, especially with her physical therapist, that the time in a familiar place would do nothing but good for her body and mind. 

Her nurses name was Jeyne Westerling, and she was a pretty girl. Chestnut curls, heart shaped face, beautiful brown eyes that shined with amusement every time she laughed, which Sansa was learning was an awful lot. Not that she minded, she liked having her mind kept off of everything that was her life. 

Sansa watched as Arya packed her meager possessions up in a few bags. Pictures in frames, dried flowers, birthday cards from the past three years, stuffed animals in variety, blankets and extra pillows. Jeyne had been in to help Sansa bathe, and braided her hair back off her face. Her mother painted her nails three nights ago, insisting that it was something she did every few weeks while Sansa had been in her coma, just to keep things normal. Arya brought her a very comfortable pair of sweat pants, with a tank top and oversized plaid shirt to wear on top when she left the hospital. 

Nothing exciting had been planned for her homecoming. Robb and Jon had gotten leave from their schools to visit when she had woken up, and this would be their last night home before heading back off to their respective universities. Her mother was cooking her favorite meal, along with lemoncake for dessert, and her brothers had promised a night of relaxation before they got back into the swing of things at home. 

Her father had been busy signing all sorts of medical clearances and talking to Dr. Luwin, so she had yet to see him this morning. Arya had grabbed the last few things and placed them all in the last bag she had, throwing a smile in her sisters way before heading to the door.

“I'll see you in a few minutes Sansa. I'm going to take this all to the Mountaineer for Dad. Jory and I will be waiting outside for you two!” Her younger sister said while her father walked into the room. 

“Tell Jory to pull the Mountaineer up to the front doors. Sansa and I will be right down.” Her father called after Arya.

It was such a relief to see her father alive, she had cried more tears for him than anyone else. His face was more lined, and he had grays peaking out in his dark hair, but his steel gray eyes were full of cheer to match the smile on his face.

“Ready to go now lemoncake? Even if you don't remember it, three years has been more than enough time spent in this room.” 

Sansa smiled and nodded, while letting her father help her into her wheelchair. Even if it wasn't hospital policy, she wasn’t strong enough to walk on her own yet. 

“Father... umm.. Dad. I have something to ask you. It's a bit personal, but I know you'd understand better than Mom would..” Sansa started, mumbling over her words. 

“Anything dear. Whatever I can do for you, I will try. You know that Sansa.” His gray eyes full of concern. “Now, what's the matter? Are you not ready to go home? I can always go get Dr. Luwin.”

“No Dad. I'm more than ready to go home, I've been away long enough. Just. Do you remember the dreams I told you about? Where you were a Lord and murdered by an evil boy king?” She started, her father shaking his head in acknowledgment.

Her whole family knew in truth, it was something she had talked about with her psychologist, and was encouraged to talk about with everyone else. It was the reality she knew for three years, and bound to effect her life.

“There was a man in my dreams. Much older than me, in his late 20's, and he was the boy kings sworn shield. Tall, nearing 7 feet, gray eyes, long black hair, built like a true warrior. His face was badly burned on one side, and he had the worst temper I'd ever seen, drunk most of the time.. and rude. But he was surprisingly gentle with me, he saved my life from would be rapist and killers during a riot. I just wondered if I made this man up, or if he was a real person?”

Her father sat back on the bed, his eyes clouded over in concern.

“What was his name Sansa? True enough, most people in your dreams are real people we've encountered, but this one.. I'm not sure. It's not anyone I know if that's the case.” Her father admitted.

“His name was Sandor Clegane. They called him the Hound.” Sansa could barely make eye contact with her father from embarrassment.

“Clegane? Sandor, you said? Not Gregor? Are you sure?” Fathers voice was raised in alarm.

“Yes. Sandor Clegane. Gregor was his brother, and he was Tywin Lannisters rabid dog. He was a murdered and a rapist, and no true knight.”

“Yes. Gregor Clegane is very much a real person here Sansa, a very bad man who will be in prison for a long time. I don't know about a Sandor though. I can have someone look into it.” Her father offered, pushing her wheelchair out into the hallway.

The nurses and doctors on her floor bid her farewell, and invited her back to visit. She received hugs and well wishes from all, and Dr. Luwin gave her a bouquet of winter roses as she left. Nurse Jeyne followed behind them, as she'd be driving her own car over to the Starks residence, and the three of them entered the elevator together.

“I would very much like it if you did Dad. I know this man, if he even exists, won't have any idea who I am, but I would very much like to see if he's okay. In my dreams he was a tormented soul, but he helped me when he could. I would just like a chance to see him here for myself.” Sansa said, a sad smile on her face.

“'We'll get right on that love. But first, let's get you home.” Father pushed her from the elevator and into the entrance hall. Through the big glass doors she could see Arya and Jory, who was her fathers driver, waving at them to come along.

A week ago she had been living in a castle, fearing for her life, and beaten by grown men in full armor. She had been a highborn lady, betrothed to a monster of a king, with courtesy as her only armor. Her father was dead, denounced as a traitor, and she was cut off from her family because they rebelled against the throne. Her sister was missing, and her two youngest brothers left alone with no parents to protect them. The boy she thought was her bastard brother went to serve at the Wall, to protect the realms of men, and the only person to help her in the slightest was a drunken non-knight who mocked her at every turn. 

Now her universe was flipped upside down. She had to learn to separate fact from fiction, and to live in the real world again. She wanted to find this realities Sandor Clegane, if only to see what type of man he would become in a different society. She wanted to be able to walk again without help, to continue her studies and catch up on the life she had been missing out on all these years. But all that could wait, because tonight her mother was making chicken parmesan and lemoncake, and she would get to sleep in her own bed for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very nervous about posting this. I've been toying with this idea for months, but it's been years since I've written fanfiction. Hopefully this gets better as it goes! I'm sorry for any errors, they are completely my own. Feedback would be great! I'm not sure how I'm going to sleep now, I'm so anxious.. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

He stalked the halls in Maegor's, along the path to the little birds room, where he knew he would run into that bloody handmaid of hers. “Handmaid” Sandor scoffed to himself. “More like whore. Little Lord Imps whore to be true.” He'd lived in the capitol long enough to tell the difference between serving wenches, handmaids and whores, and the Lothari was most certainly a whore. Too soft to be a serving girl, and too bold to be a handmaid. Knowing the imp was the one who placed her in the little birds service, well.. it just made things clear, even if he was the only one who could see it.

He only wanted to inquire on her mistresses health, but as a Kingsguards and Joffreys sworn shield, asking directly would only result in questions. Questions he didn't want to fucking answer either, if only because he wasn't sure the answer himself. He could feign indifference with the maid though, who may be smarter than your average whore, but scared of him all the same. And so he avoided the halls leading directly to his kings betrothed’s chambers, but stalked the servants corridors, a wineskin full of Dornish sour red and his longsword on his back. 

It might have been an hour, maybe two at most, but eventually the handmaid appeared down the hall from him, a look of apprehension flaring across her face as she noticed she was not alone. The girl put on a brave face however, holding her head up high and looking him right in the eye as he came near. “Aye. This ones a whore. A simple handmaid would have turned tail at the sight of my face.” He thought as he stopped in front of the little thing.

“Good evening, my lord. How pleasant to see you in this part of the keep.” The handmaid said.

Oh seven fucking hells.. What was her name? Sarae? Sarella? Sandor rubbed a mailed fist at his temple for a moment, before the name came to him. Shae. He'd heard the imps fucking sellsword mention it before while drinking with some of the men-at-arms.

“The little birds taught her handmaid to chirp so well. Not as prettily, but enough to pass.” He rasped. Her eyes widening in brief recognition, before schooling her face back into one of impassiveness. Aye woman, I know what you are, best be remembering that.

“My lady has improved my use of the common tongue, has she not ser?” Shae looked him dead in the eye, as if to challenge him.

“Fuck your sers.” He nearly growled. “Your lady is a kind one aye, but too bloody naive and trustful.”

“We can agree on that, my lord. If you'll excuse me, I needs must attend to her. She'll be in too much pain if she wakes up soon.” 

With that Shae made her way down the hall, heading out of the alcove that was hidden behind some tapestry or another.

By the time he made it back to White Sword Tower and his chambers, Sandor was drunk and enraged. Not nearly drunk enough, was his only thought as he shed his white armor. Peeling off his tunic and breeches, he grabbed the wash basin and the bar of lard soap, and set to methodically scrubbed himself down. Not a real bath by any means, but the wine had made him work up a sweat while pacing that godsdamned hallway. 

His temper had settled down and he no longer fully felt the affects of the Dornish red. Sighing angrily, he pulled the cork stopper out of another wineskin, drinking heavily until he his head started to swim properly again. He threw himself down onto his bed, which had to be extended to fit his large frame when he had taken over the small cell, and closed his eyes to think.

A few days past the king received word that the young wolf had won a some battle somewhere in the bloody west, too close to the Rock for anyone at the courts liking. It was some small thing, barely a skirmish, but it was enough to enrage the boy king. He had sent for his betrothed, escorted back to the throne room by two of his so-called brothers, to make the bird explain her brothers treason’s. The girls renouncement of her family was not enough to pacify her king though, and she was ordered beaten. Ser Meryn Fuckin' Trant did the little bird the honors, beating her back with the flat of his sword until the blood was seeping through the silk of her gowns. That had been enough for the king, and he had his lady sent away without another word. He'd never been asked to hit the girl, likely they all thought she'd be dead by the end. No, he let his brothers do that, with their knightly honor, let them live with beating a defenseless young maid. 

All the while Sandor stood there, biting the inside of his cheeks until the bled. The little bird was in pain, clear enough for all to see, but no one dare speak out against the kings treatment of her. Least of all him, for he was happy to keep his head on his shoulders where it belonged. Gregor had failed at killing him all those years ago, he'd be damned if his head ended up on a spike for some wisp of a girl.

But gods, was she a beauty. Taller than most her age, the showings of hips and teats, skin like ivory. And her bloody hair. Red as the flames he feared, long enough to reach the top of her arse, and the shiniest thing when reflected in the sun. Biting back a groan, Sandor could feel his breeches becoming uncomfortably tight, so he wiped a hand across his face and took a swig of the sour red from his wineskin.

It would do no good thinking about the fucking girl. Engaged to the king, despite his obvious hatred of her, too young, too highborn for the likes of him. Someday she would be his queen, and he would be as faithful a dog to her as he was to the king he was bound to serve. He drank his sour red until he went gladly into oblivion. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was an incessant buzzing somewhere deep under the pile of pillows that he currently had his head buried under, and all it was doing was increasing the pounding in his head. Growling, Sandor shoved one of the pillows closer to his head, but the fucking buzzing wouldn't stop. Grasping blindly beneath him, his fingers grasped the offending object before sliding his finger across the screen and turning off the alarm. Sighing deeply, he settled back into the pillows and pulled the sheets tighter around him, his eyes were throbbing behind his lids, and quite frankly he wasn't exactly sure why.

Rubbing a hand down his face, he rolled over to take a clear look at the time. 6:48am. Too godsdamned early with his head pounding like it was, but the shower and coffee would have to do their jobs. Throwing the blankets off of him, he gingerly put his left leg down on the floor, followed by his right. The injury was still sore, where he had snapped his femur and tore the quadriceps muscle during a fight in Las Vegas four years past. “Strongest bone in the body, my ass” He couldn't help but think as he made his way to the connected master bath.

As a professional MMA fighter, Sandor had traveled the world and lived the high life. Narcotics were never his thing, too many damn drug tests to pass to get into the scene, so he chose to take up the bottle instead. It started easily enough, a drink or two to calm his nerves before a big fight, and then a few more drinks after he'd win. Someone was always around to cover the bill, so it wasn't his own money being spent half the time. The liquor made things easier, gave the woman that surrounded him and his tour mates the needed courage to approach them, gave him the ability to forget the scars on the left side of his face. 

The liquor also made him stupid. One or two drinks would turn into five or six quick enough, and he'd spend half the time on tour shit face wasted. He was smart enough to stay mostly sober in the ring, but he learned the difference between mostly sober and completely sober in the worst way. Ten years into his career, full fledged alcoholic, and he was stupid enough to get in the ring completely wasted. Not only did he fuck his leg up that day, but he deflated his ego pretty quickly. 

The next year of his life was a nightmare. Surgeries, doctors, sports therapists, physical therapy, and a six month stay in rehab for his alcoholism. You name it, he probably had to do it. 

Roughly a year after his accident was when the dreams started. The ones where her was the sworn shield to the crown prince, who would become the king. The dreams were just that though. Bits and pieces, fragments of some events, sometimes more. Familiar faces, and occasionally he could recall a name or two, but he only knew his identity for certain. He was Sandor Clegane in this world, the same while he was awake. The fearful Hound, not a knight, but treated better than a normal man at arms. His scars were worse, his temper even more so, but in his dreams his leg was intact and he could still fight better than anyone else. 

The girl with the red hair was a mystery to him. Young and innocent, too good for the likes of him. He was absolutely certain he had never met her before, she didn't have a face he would was like to forget. In his dreams he longed for her, to protect her from the boy king, to take her back to her family, to keep her by his side. But then he would awake, and she would fade away, lingering in the back of his mind until he went to sleep at night.

Stepping from the shower, he quickly toweled off and checked the time again. 7:06am. His appointment at his counselors office was at 7:45am, and then it was off to physical therapy. Despite his doctors wishes for him to stay retired, he longed to get back into the ring. He was only 32, not too old to be competitive, and in prime physical shape, not counting his leg.

Pulling a gray t shirt on, a pair of jeans, and some sandals, he threw his gym clothes in a bag along with his sneakers and a bottle of water. His long black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and he grabbed a zip up sweatshirt and his car keys while heading out the door. He went to his normal coffee place, grabbing one for his counselor as well. It was the least he could do, agreeing to meet him so early in the morning on a Monday. 

He parked his truck in front of the office of Trident Counseling and Psychiatric, grabbing the coffees while listening for the beep of his lock. There was one light on inside, and he pushed the door open with his hip while holding the coffees.

“Is that you Sandor?” A mans voice called from the back, “Come on back, I'm ready when you are.”

Sandor couldn't help but roll his eyes, Elder Brother was always ready, be it for him, or for someone else. They first met after he left his rehab treatment center, taking the recommendation of the therapist at the center to seek more mental help. His agent readily agreed to it, making sure Sandor would do whatever possible to gain some of his reputation back.

Elder Brother became increasingly helpful when these dreams started. He didn't judge, laugh or mock Sandor for any of them, and insured him that he was not losing his mind. He did find it a bit troubling that Sandor had no recollection of anyone’s names, but could recall the pet name to the red haired girl. Always the little bird, in every dream, no matter what had happened. He was certain he had heard the girls actual name at some point, but by the time he awoke he could never recall it.

“Good morning Sandor.” Elder Brother said, looking over the rim of his glasses. He had short white hair, and was casually dressed for being in the office.

“What old man, no other pretty faces to see but my own?” Sandor asked, taking in his confidants attire. 

The brother chuckled and took his coffee to free up his patients hands. “No Sandor. Only you today. I have business to attend elsewhere, but I wouldn't miss our Monday mornings for the world. Now sit. Tell me how you're feeling?”

Sandor sat awkwardly in one of the too small chairs by the desk. He kept threatening to break the damn thing so it would have to be replaced, by something he could fit in preferably, but had yet to make due on his promise.

“Legs a bit tight this morning. I tried running on the treadmill this weekend, and I know Brienne will bite my head off when I get to PT. But it felt damn good while I was doing it.” 

“Feeling good about yourself should never be a bad thing. But I must agree with Miss Tarth, if you want back in the ring, you need to get your strength to 100%. Nothing wrong with taking it easy my friend.” The brother smiled that knowing smile that drove Sandor insane half the time.

“You're bloody talking to my other doctors again, aren't you?” Sandor scowled. 32 years old and being treated like a child.

“When I see it fit. I'm in charge of your mental well being Sandor, and sometimes that means knowing the physical side of things too. Enough of that now. How was the girl?” Elder Brother took a sip of his coffee, changing the subject with a finality in his voice.

The girl. That was how they referred to her in their talks. Sandor had talked about everyone, the kings he served, the blonde queen, even the brothers in the Kingsguard, but Elder Brother solely focused on the young red haired maid, the little bird. 

“I didn't see her. Last time I did, she was being beaten again, and I just stood there. I tracked down her handmaid though, the one I think is actually a whore, found out that she was being kept asleep. Drowned myself in some wine, and woke up.” He sighed, putting his cup down on the end table.

Elder Brother contemplated what he had just heard for a moment, rubbing his hand on his chin.

“It sounds like it was more than you normally remember or see. An actual dream, not just a glimpse. This is a good thing Sandor, a very good thing.”

“And why is that old man? If I was going to remember her, I would have by now. It's been three years.” Sandor's voice was like steel, grating with annoyance.

“But if you keep dreaming, keep remembering, there is a chance you'll learn her name. Her identity. Whatever answers lie in your subconscious, I'm certain will be revealed when you learn who she is.” Sandor had heard this before. Many times, in many variations. 

“You still think she is a real person, out there somewhere, don't you?” They had been over this as well. Whoever she was, Sandor had never met her. He wouldn't forget someone was important as that, even if it was while he had spent a majority of his life in a drunken stupor. 

“She's very real Sandor. Maybe not in the physical sense, but in your mind at least. You're still looking for answers, and quite possibly this girl can answer them. You hold on to so man things son, your sisters death, your mother and your fathers. The demons that haunt you are very real.” 

Sandor rubbed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his chair. Yes, he had demons, but this girl wasn't one of them. She was an angel of mercy, sent by the gods if they even existed, to help save his soul.

“I'll try harder to remember. To learn the little birds name, if that will make you happy.” He said, standing up from his chair, shaking the mans hand. 

“Have fun at PT. Give Miss Tarth my regards. I'll see you next Monday Sandor, call if you need me.” Elder Brother told him, leading him to his office door.

“Aye old man. Monday morning it is.” He said, closing the door behind him.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arriving late to PT was frowned upon. Brienne ran a tight ship, and Sandor wasn't her only patient. He rushed to change into some work out gear, and settled into the equipment Brienne used to stretch him. She noticed his grimace when she started on his left leg, but thankfully said nothing.

“How about we work on some strengthening today?” The blonde said with a smile on her face.

Weight lifting was the easy part. His balance was still off on a good day, and his range of motion was not what it used to be. But leg presses, sit ups, push ups, those were where he physicality had the upper hand. Broad shoulders, muscular arms, and his good leg were able to make up for his injuries.

About an hour into the workout, Sandor was ready to call it quits. Brienne insisted he stretch again, it was all about gaining his range of motion again, and stretching was key. 

“I talked to your manager. Said that you're wanting to start working in a regular gym again, but I need to give the okay.” Brienne said, while stretching the quad muscle he tore. 

“Aye, you heard right. I know you think I'm not ready, but I'm not going to push myself harder than I what I can do.” Sandor grunted, gods his fucking leg hurt.

“Then why were you on the treadmill this weekend?” She flashed a wicked smile.

“Who fucking told you? I was alone.” Sandor half whined.

“I have my sources.” She grinned, moving to his right leg. “I'll give my okay, as long as you keep coming to your sessions here, and that you don't push yourself too hard. I'll have my eyes on you Clegane.”

“Easy sessions then, just some basic sparing..” 

“No kicking. You're not ready.” Brienne cut him off. 

Sandor stood up and stretched his back, popping his neck in the process. He nodded in agreement with Brienne, grabbing his water bottle and taking a swig. He looked around the center, wondering where her next appointment was.

“Where's the kid?” The curiosity getting the best of him. Taking a seat at a weight bench, he wipe the sweat off his face.

“Oh. He won't be in today. Wednesday at the earliest. You can stay if you'd like, I just have some paper work to file.” Brienne waived a hand dismissively, walking back to her small office. She really needed to hire someone to do the office work for her, Sandor thought with a chuckle.

“The kids always here. Like clockwork. Something happen?” He asked, trailing behind her.

Brienne gasped in fake shock. “Sandor Clegane, the infamous Hound, concerned about a 13 year old boy in a wheelchair? Are you alright?” She laughed, eyes dancing, hand on her chest.

Sandor glared at her, not finding her joke funny. At the height of his Hound persona, he was a known asshole, but he liked to think he's grown a bit since then.

“Starks not a bad kid. Right bloody awful what happened to him as well. Of course I'm curious if he's not here.” He tried to sound as if he was put off by Briennes attitude.

“If you must know, his sisters home. Catelyn called me last week to let me know Bran would be missing PT until things got settled.” Brienne said, pulling out a pile of papers from a file folder.

He knew Stark had a sister, brown haired little feisty thing. And two brothers, and a cousin that was practically another. He didn't realize the wolfgirl had been gone. Knowing what he'd heard of the girl, it was probably juvie.

“Wolfgirl was gone off somewhere? Got herself in trouble finally?” He mused to Brienne, leaning on the doorway to her office.

“No. Not Arya. His other sister, the one that’s been in the coma. Woke up 10 days or so ago, went back home over the weekend. I suspect I'll be having her in for PT soon.” Brienne told him, not looking up from her paperwork.

”Hm. Forgot about that one. Hit her head a few years ago, or something like that, right? How long ago was that?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, shifting his weight to his right leg.

“Three years. Right around the time you started PT with me, now that I think about it.” The blonde finally looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed together as if she were thinking on something.

“What's the girls name?” The question slipped out before he could give it a second thought.

Brienne smiled again, turning back to her papers. “Oh. Her name is Sansa. Sansa Stark.” 

A small smile graced his lips, unbidden. It sounded familiar, yet like he'd never heard it before.

“Sansa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tweaked ages. Sansa is 17, nearing 18, while Sandor is 32. Pretty close to canon, but I wanted to mention it. I personally imagine the GoT cast in the parts, but feel free to imagine otherwise. :)
> 
> Sandor is probably a little OOC. But he's lived a different life. Not exactly all good, but not nearly as bad.
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments. They mean so much to me! 
> 
> Once again this chapter is unbeta'd but I'm hoping to change that soon! :) All errors are mine for now!


	3. Chapter 3

Her back had a dull ache in it when she woke, her limbs heavy from the dreamwine. Her maid had left a fire in the hearth, but was nowhere to be seen otherwise. _To get more milk of the poppy, I hope_ , Sansa thought idly, gingerly lifting herself up into a sitting position. 

She wore a thin sleep shift, and could feel the bandages that wrapped around her ribcage. Her hair fell lank against her shoulder, tied back with a simple piece of leather. Sansa could feel the scabbed-over skin pulling underneath the bandages with every breath she took, but she remained sitting upright in her bed. It was uncomfortable, for true, but she knew she would be expected back in court in a few days time. As soon as the king got word that his betrothed was awake, her presence would be expected.  
  
 _I wonder what story they have been telling about my absence, what lies I'll have to agree to this time._ The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her bedchamber door opened, and Shae came through carrying a tray of fresh bandages and glass vials of ointments. A surprised look crossed her face when she saw Sansa sitting up. Setting down the tray, she rushed to her side to help adjust her sitting position into something more comfortable.   “I am glad to see you awake, m’lady. You should have waited for me to help you sit up, we can't have you tearing your fresh wounds back open.” Shae spoke in her calming Lorathi accent, even if she was chastising her. She handed Sansa a cup of water, which she eagerly swallowed down, throat raw from her prolonged sleep.   
  
“How many days, Shae? How long have they been keeping me asleep?” Sansa asked, allowing her maid to move her so her feet were hanging off her bed. Shae helped her remove the simple shift, and moved the tray to the end of the bed.  
  
  “Near on a fortnight, m’lady. The maester just met me outside your doors, said to change your bandages whether you were awake or no.” Shae gently started peeling the soiled rags from her back, careful not to open the wounds again.  The pain was bearable, coming in small bursts as Shae rubbed various oils and ointments on her back. Ones to help with the pain, ones to fight infection, and ones to keep the scarring minimal. It was like an old dance, one you could never forget, no matter how long it had been since you did it. These sorts of punishments were nothing new, not since the death of her father, and her maid had gotten so well at treating her wounds that the maesters no longer came everyday to do it themselves.     
  
“And just what lies are they telling about me now? What illness befalls me to be missing from the halls of the Red Keep for so long?”  

“Your delicate northern blood cannot handle the sudden heatwave that is upon the city. His Grace has so kindly allowed you to rest in your chambers until the heatwave lightens up,” Shae said, standing up to pull a clean sleeping shift from Sansa's dresser.  

“And has anyone come to see me?” It was a painful question to ask, since the concern for her wellbeing was minimal at best.   “Her Grace the Queen came on the first day, to see that the maesters would keep you asleep. And to remind them to mend your skin properly. The Lord Hand has been by too, to inquire about your status.”   
  
“And my betrothed?” Of course Joffrey would never waste a moment on her, not when he had commoners to torment somewhere, and his kingly duties to attend to.    
  
Hesitating, Shae looked like she was contemplating something, and shook her head no. She helped redress Sansa, and then put her back into the bed. Finding a serving girl in the hallway, Shae asked for a light meal to be brought up, under the guise that she was still cleaning her mistress’s wounds. She barred the door behind her, rushing back to Sansa side, smiling weakly.  
  
  “There was something queer that happened earlier today, no more than a few hours hence. I was headed back here, through the servants’ corridors, and there was the Hound. He's not often one to use those halls, such a big man like him hardly fits in those narrow passages. He inquired about you, in not so many words, m’lady.”   Sansa could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. The Hound, inquiring about her? Why would he even care about her wellbeing, he was always terribly rude to her, thoroughly crass and always drunk when not on duty. But still, the idea was appeasing in a way. Her betrothed’s sworn shield, asking about her state, even in the most roundabout of ways.    
  
“The Hound. What did he say, Shae?”, she asked, trying to hide the urgency in her voice.   
  
“He did not ask anything, m’lady. Just brought you up as causally as one would the weather.” Shae laughed.   Sansas eyebrows drew together in confusion. “That's awfully forward of him.”  Shae nodded, and looked at the floor. “I told him you were asleep still. No needs to lie to him, he was there when they beat you, m’lady.”   Sansa nodded her head in agreement.  
  
Shae went and unbarred the door, and brought the small table near the bed for when the serving girl came back. The girl came quickly, placing a tray with a bowl of broth and some honeyed milk, along with a hunk of bread, on the table. There was also a small flagon of wine, with a small cup to serve it in.   Sansa started to doze off again when she finished her meal, Shae insisting she drink the whole cup of wine. She suspected it had dreamwine and maybe a bit of the milk of the poppy in it, since Shae did not drink it herself, but Sansa drank it anyway. Her body ached from the sitting she was doing, so she eased herself back into her pillows and let herself fall away from the world for the time being.  
  
  ------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Sansa awoke with a start, the first dream she could remember since waking up 10 days ago. She had come home on Saturday, spending the day with her family, integrating herself back into their lives.  
  
Everyone had moved on in the three years she'd been gone, grown older, found new hobbies, made new friends. The living room was a different color than it had been, a deep chocolate brown instead of the dark green it had been while she was growing up. There was a completely remodeled bathroom to make everything a little easier for Bran, who'd only had his accident a few months prior to her own.   Her parents had even added a small elevator, similar to one you'd see inside a church, or maybe a school; so Bran could keep his childhood bedroom once he became accustomed to his chair. It worked out in her favor too, being unsure of how much time she would spend in her wheelchair.  
  
  The doctors assured her that she would regain the ability to walk, she'd had no spinal injuries when she was thrown from her horse. It was bound to be a long process, and she needed to be prepared for many months in physical therapy. Her mother was grateful that Bran already had an exceptional PT, Brienne Tarth, who was willing to work with Sansa as well.    
  
The sun was streaming in from behind the white lace curtains that adorned her windows. If the rest of the house had changed, her room resembled a crypt. It had clearly been cleaned, recently, fresh linens on the bed, dust wiped off the surfaces. The walls were still the alarmingly bright shade of pink she remembered adoring, and the white wicker furniture made her feel like a child. Pictures and posters still adorned the walls, school awards lined up on a shelf above the desk.   The complete set of the Harry Potter books were on her shelves, as were the Twilight novels that she thought were so terribly romantic at the age of 14. Arya had told her that the rest of the Harry Potter movies had come out while she had been in her coma, and that there was even a theme park in Orlando now. She hadn't been, she said, Mom and Dad not wanting to go so far away while Sansa was in the hospital; but expressed the desire to go now that her sister was back.    
  
There was a laundry basket full of loose fitting clothes sitting on the desk chair. Sansa had grown over the last three years, nearing 5'9”, but she had also lost a considerable amount of weight. The feeding tube had kept her nourished, but most of her body fat was gone. Normally teen girls would not complain about that, but her bones stuck out awkwardly under her skin and it made her very uncomfortable. She was going to meet with a nutritionist to help decide on a diet that would best fit her.  
  
  There was a knock at her door, and then it was pushed open to reveal Nurse Jeyne. Her parents had very nearly forced the young nurse to take one of the guestrooms to be here full time, but Jeyne insisted her apartment was only a few minutes away in case they needed her at night. She was wearing black scrub pants and a pale yellow top with black stripes, her curly brown hair swept up in a ponytail on the back of her head, a smile on her face. “Good morning, Sansa! Let's get you showered and dressed, your mother has started breakfast for the young ones already.”     
  
Showering was easier than she thought it would be, the shower was big and wide open. Jeyne was able to stand off towards the back, helping Sansa with her long hair. Dressing was the hard part, Jeyne needed to help her with every aspect; it was slightly embarrassing. She donned a pair of black leggings and a blue green shirt with a merman on it that had once belonged to Robb, a t-shirt from White Harbor University where her eldest brother attended school. She shrugged on a gray cardigan and Jeyne pulled her hair back off her face before helping her downstairs.  
  
Her mother was making pancakes, her younger siblings settled around the dinning room table. Sansa settled her chair in the empty spot next to Bran, just observing the actions of her family. Arya was hastily writing something in a notebook, while Rickon had his eyes glued to a GameBoy. Bran however had his nose buried in a book, hardly noticing any of the commotion in the kitchen. Jon and Robb had gone back to school yesterday, each giving Sansa their cell phone numbers and telling her to call anytime. School could no longer be put off in the Stark home, Rickon and Arya were to go back today as well. Bran studied at home, with a tutor coming in every few days to check his progress, but 90% of what he did was online schooling. It made things easier, with his daily physical therapy sessions and the limitations of his paralysis.    
  
“Oh, Sansa dear. Are pancakes okay? It's just been so long, and I've forgotten if you like them. I could make you something else if you'd like?” Her mother looked flustered, as she had done so often over the last 10 days.   “Pancakes are fine, Mom. Carbs are going to be my new best friends over the next few months,” Sansa smiled, drinking the glass of orange juice that Jeyne had placed before her.    
  
The rest of the morning was uneventful, Arya and Rickon both rushing out the door to catch their respective buses. Bran rolled off not too much later, saying something about some history exam he needed to study for. Sansa relaxed back in her chair, watching her mom and Jeyne as they did dishes, discussing some book they had both recently read.   Her mind kept going back to her dream. She had dreamed the Hound was concerned about her, even if it was only a guess. She hadn't talked about Sandor Clegane since Saturday morning with her father, and he hadn't brought him up either. It had only been two days, but she was eager to learn something, anything. She knew he existed. She would be able to sense it otherwise, she was certain about it.    
  
She was knocked out of her thoughts when she heard her father enter the kitchen, catching him sliding up behind his wife to kiss her cheek from the corner of her eye. Catelyn swatted him with a dishtowel, making Ned laugh as he grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter. Ned’s eyes lit up when he spotted Sansa, his smile growing wider as he pulled up a chair next to where she sat.    “You have no idea how happy it makes us to have you back home, lemoncake,” her father said, reaching for her hand and giving it a light squeeze. Sansa smiled warmly at that. Her father knew of her dreams, of the torment she lived through after his death, but the thought of her parents going through a very real torment here was just as heart breaking. “I'm glad to be back. I'm excited to meet Miss Tarth, to start working on walking again. To get my life back. I've missed out on so much...”    
  
“Wednesday will be your first day there. A very good counselor whom Dr. Luwin suggested will be making a special house call today, and your tutor will also be stopping by. But first, I have something private to discuss with you. Would you mind if we took it to my office?” Her father stood, raising his hand to point to the double doors that led to his home office.   Sansa nodded her head once, and rolled herself out from underneath the table top. She gave a quick wave to her mother and Jeyne, saying they would holler if either were needed, and followed her father out of kitchen into the hall. Ned stood by the door, holding them open to let Sansa wheel in easier. He closed the door behind him, and took a seat behind his desk, shuffling a few papers as he did.   
  
“On Saturday you told me about a man, Sandor Clegane. You asked if he was real, that you'd like to know since her was a part of your life in those dreams you had,” he started, looking over his desk at her, eyes concerned.  “Yes. Did you find something? I didn't just make him up, did I?” Sansa was hopeful. This man was really out there somewhere, he just had to be.  
  
“I had my best men look into it. I know it's only been two days, but they were able to come up with quite a bit of information until they hit a dead end. This Sandor of yours was quite the famous man here, Sansa. Rising from obscurity with a questionable past, he was a Mixed Martial Arts fighter for ten years under the moniker of ‘The Hound’. He toured professionally, won a lot of titles and championships, quite a celebrity. Quite a drunk too, from our understanding.”   Sansa giggled at that, she couldn't help it. Real Sandor sounded similar to the one she had dreamed up. Maybe this one was less angry.  
  
“He had an accident four years ago in the ring. Broken femur and muscle damage. He was raging drunk when it happened and went on to win the fight, not even feeling a thing with all the adrenaline in his body. He had multiple surgeries to repair the damage and spent some time in rehab. Wherever he is now, he's keeping a low profile,” Ned said, laying a stack of papers down in front of Sansa.  The man pictured was clearly Sandor Clegane. Broad and tall, with a hooked nose and heavy brow. Dark gray eyes, long black hair and a beard. The left side of his face was scarred as well, not nearly as bad as she had imagined. She wondered if he got his scars the same way, if Gregor had held his face down in some flame when they were boys.  
  
“If you were able to find out all this about him, why couldn't your men find where he is?” It was a simple question. Her father had said his best men were looking into this.   “Sansa, sweetling. At Stark & Co., we deal with investors, with their investments, and with anyone who invests in them. Our clients know that in signing with our company, any and all information is accessible to us. We can't make bad investments, nor can we let our clients do the same. My men, the ones that I asked to do this for me, are very good at their jobs. If someone is trying to hide something, they would let me know. With that being said, if someone leaves no trace of personal identity, it's hard to find them. This Sandor Clegane does not want to be found, it seems.” Her father sighed, leaving the papers on his desk.  
  
  He stood then, walking around the desk to Sansa, taking her hand again. Kissing her brow, he settled back on the seat next to her. “I'm sorry, love. If anything comes up, we can let you know. Just keep in mind that this is a 32 year old man, who has no idea who you are. Telling him that you've had these dreams about him might just scare him away if he can be found.”   
  
 “How can someone not leave personal information? No credit cards? No medical records? I don't understand this, that's all.”   “We've thought of that. Most likely he's using an alias, or even has everything in his managers name. Celebrities do that from time to time.” Her father let go of her hand, pushing her chair back towards the door. It was nearly time to meet the counselor.  “Thank you, Dad. This means a lot to me,” Sansa said, grasping her fathers hand in hers again.    
  
\---------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The Elder Brother sat across from the Starks in their living room, politely sipping on the cup of tea Catelyn had offered him. Sansa wasn't sure why exactly the man was called Elder Brother, but that's how he had introduced himself. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stark. I'm so sorry for what's happened to you, but I'm here to make the transition an easy one,” the brother said, his voice full of sincerity.  “Thank you, sir. I've been doing okay, just a lot to get used to still,” Sansa spoke, her voice small.     
  
“I understand, my dear. Things have changed a lot in the last three years. Not only in the world, with technology increasing all the time, but here at home as well. Now I understand you have a young son who is also in a wheelchair?”, he said, turning his gaze to Ned and Cat.    
  
Catelyn spoke first. “Yes. Our middle boy, Bran, fell from a tree a few months before Sansa was hurt. He suffered a broken vertebra. He'll never walk again, not unless they make some miracle treatment or surgery. He's a good boy, he's learned to deal with his condition the best a 13 year old can. He was a very active little boy, very independent. He's determined to stay that way too. Bran normally goes to physical therapy with Brienne Tarth Monday through Friday. The last weeks have been a little different though, with everything that's happened.” -  
  
“Oh yes. I know Miss Tarth, another client of mine has regular physical therapy with her. A very nice lady, extremely good at her job. I assume Sansa will be attending there as well?”, the brother said, placing his cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him.   “Yes. I had some minor therapy while in the hospital, but I need it regularly if I'm going to walk again.” Sansa spoke for herself. She felt much more like an adult than a little girl, she didn't need her parents to explain everything.    
  
“You will walk again, Sansa. Now, tell me, is there anything you'd like to discuss today? We'll start regular sessions next week, but I'm here now if you need anything.” The way he spoke was full of sincerity. It made her want to open up completely, but she knew how uncomfortable talking in detail about her dream world made her mother.   “Well, I had some vivid dreams when I was in my coma,” she started, eyeing both her parents. Her father nodded encouragingly, while her mother’s mouth pressed into a thin line.  
  
  “I see. Dreams can be a good thing, Sansa. Brain activity after such an accident is looked on favorably. Anything specific about them?”    
  
“I dreamed about people I knew, every face I saw was one that was familiar to me, even vaguely.” _Except for one_ , she silently added.   “That would be your subconscious. You always dream about people you've seen before, even briefly, whether it’s in passing, or on the news, a magazine, and so on. This is not uncommon, nor cause for alarm.” He sat up a little straighter, having caught the look on her mothers face. His tone was reassuring.    
  
“I understand. Thank you for letting me know that, it makes me feel a little less crazy,” she said, looking at her mother, who still looked uncomfortable with the topic.   “We will talk more next week, Sansa. I'll see you at 9:15 on Monday morning at my office. Be sure to call if you need anything. I look forward to getting to know you.” Elder Brother rose from his chair, shaking hands with Nad, Catelyn and Sansa in turn.   Her father escorted the brother to the door, while her mother cleared the tea.  
  
Sansa's tutor was to come here today too, only to sort out the basics of their game plan. They would have to assess her mental capacity, her parents both reminding her that she was not stupid by any means, just that they needed to see where she was at intellectually, what she would need to relearn and what she would be able to pick right back up.   Whoever it was had most certainly gotten here, Sansa could hear her father laughing with someone in the hall. It was so good to hear his laugh, to see him smile. She had missed her mother and siblings, but she hadn’t dreamt them dead. Arya was only missing, but she knew her sister was out there somewhere.     
  
Ned walked back into the living room, and one of the last people she would ever expect was following behind him.   “Sansa, I'd like to introduce you to Tyrion Lannister. He's to be your tutor,” Ned said, motioning to the small man beside him.   He looked different than Sansa remembered, both his eyes were green and his hair a flaxen blond. Less grotesque than he was in her world, where he was the Hand of the King. She could only hope he wouldn't bring his terrible nephew around.   
  
 “Hello Sansa. I've heard an awful lot about you. And clearly, by your reaction, you of me. Not good things, I'd say, either,” Tyrion said, taking a seat on the couch while pulling out various materials from the small portable trunk he rolled into the room.   “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I just recall my parents not being overly fond of anyone with the last name Lannister,” she said, backtracking a little. She couldn't tell this man that she dreamed his nephew had her father killed!    
  
 “Oh yes. Well, not many people are now, are they? Well, no bother, I've been practically disowned by my father. Teaching is below us Lannisters, or so he told me when I went to college for that instead of following his footsteps to the business world.” He sounded a little bitter, but if real world Tywin was anything like the brutal man she had heard of in her dreams, she'd be a little bitter too.   He placed papers and pens, calculators, and various books along the table. Tyrion wore an easy going smile as he told Sansa what they would be spending the next few weeks doing. He had no expectations that she would be ready to start actual classes for a while, but these few weeks were to benchmark her. Moving forward after that, they would start getting into the real learning.  
  
  Tyrion spent about two hours with her, both Ned and Cat floating in and out of the room, checking in with them. Nurse Jeyne sat in a chair in the corner of the room, occasionally looking at her cell phone and giggling, but being helpful to Tyrion when he asked if she could go into some detail with the biology topic they were reviewing.   After gathering up all his supplies, he bid both of them good day, seeing himself out while Jeyne helped Sansa back into the kitchen where her mother was busy cooking dinner. Arya and Rickon had come home already, the older one talking a mile a minute about some boy who was being “a stupid bull”, and Rickon was outside chasing his dog Shaggy around.  
  
  Sansa looked longingly out of the window. The Winterfell estate was large, but not far from the city. They had a barn with some stable hands that held the horses her mother loved so much, and a few acres worth of land. Most of the property had been sold off over the years, not because the Starks needed the money, but because keeping such a large property fully working had become such a large responsibility. As kids, it would upset them when they would loose precious areas to play outside in, but their father always reminded that there was always more land somewhere else.  
  
   “Are you okay, San?” A small voice startled her out of her thoughts. Bran had rolled up beside her ever so quietly.   “I'm fine, Bran. Thanks for asking. Just thinking about when I was younger and would get so mad at Dad when he'd tell us we couldn't play somewhere because the property didn't belong to us any longer. It was such a silly thing to get mad about, but at the time...”   “It was the most important thing in the world.” Her little brother was wise beyond his years.   "Remember how he would always remind us that Winterfell was supposed to be Uncle Brandon's inheritance, not his? That he was not equipped to run this place like his brother was?" Uncle Brandon was reckless, according to her father, and had gotten himself killed before Sansa was even born. 

“Yes, I recall. It was always his reasoning behind selling bits of land." Sansa took her brothers hand in her, giving it a small squeeze. "So, tell me about this Brienne. Is she nice? She knows what she's doing?” Sansa was curious. This woman was to help her learn to walk again!   She couldn't recall the last time she had seen Bran so excited, but he talked animatedly about his therapist. Apparently she was taller than Sansa, and had short blonde hair with big blue eyes. She ran a small practice, only taking a select amount of clients, normally special cases, so she could focus on them individually. She agreed to work with Sansa before even doing a consultation, but she had grown close to the Starks over the last few years. Her mother adored the younger woman, and believed in Brienne's ability to help her daughter.     
  
By the time she went to bed that night, Sansa was exhausted. The day had been full of revelations. The Elder Brother was a kind man, and Sansa got the feeling that he would not judge her for her dreams. Tyrion Lannister was not at all what she expected either, he was witty and smart, but had patience with her when she struggled with certain things.   Jeyne helped her into her bed, telling Sansa good night before leaving for the night. She turned off the overhead light before shutting the door behind her. Sansa could hear her footsteps retreating down the hall, pausing to presumably have a quick word with her parents.    
  
Turning her body to face her windows, she stared out into the night sky. It was an inky black, and in the sky towards the city you couldn't even see a single star. Turning back to the woods surrounding the back of her parents’ property, the sky twinkled black and white. It was calming, and peaceful, and it made her glad to be home. Winterfell was comforting after all those years dreaming of the Red Keep, such a beautiful and terrible place to live in her dreams.   
  
  The thought of this world’s Sandor came back into her head. Her father said he was 32, but in the photos she saw he looked much younger. He was a good looking man, she had to admit, his scars making him look formidable but not altogether as terrifying as he once looked to her.  What the Elder Brother had said about dreaming faces she knew was sticking out to her now, in the dark of her bedroom. Where would she have seen this man? Was it just as simple as catching his face on TV? That hardly explained knowing his name though.     
  
These were thoughts for the morning. It had been a long day, and she needed her rest, because tomorrow would undoubtably be just as long. Shopping with her mom and Nurse Jeyne, and a visit to her nutritionist as well.  So she would go to sleep with the knowledge that Sandor Clegane was alive somewhere. She didn't know how damaged he was, mentally or physically, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered. She would find him, wherever he was, she was sure of it; if only just to see if he had the life he deserved. She only hoped it would be sooner rather than later.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'd like to thank the awesome SandraClegane for beta'ing this for me!  
> I'd also like to everyone for the reviews and kudos! It means a lot! :)
> 
> oh yes- and I took the leap to tumblr.. you can find me at bex-morealli.tumblr.com :)


	4. Chapter 4

Sandor settled back into the over-sized leather couch in his living room, feet on the coffee table, TV on in the background. It was only Tuesday, but the day had been mostly a blur. PT with Brienne had lasted longer than normal, since the Stark boy wasn't expected back until tomorrow, and then he had a visit to Dr. Pycelle to get a check up on his leg. It was a long appointment, and boring as fuck, but the damn old fool of a doctor gave him an okay to do more physically, which was all that mattered. 

He'd spent the afternoon sending his manager emails about the different gyms he was considering, and watching footage of recent fights. There was hardly a man his size in any of the videos he watched, but he had to admit that some of these young guys were actually good. One or two of them could probably even take him, with his leg being the way it was, but none of them could hold a candle to him at top form.   

It was arrogant to think that, he knew he was full of himself most days, but arrogance was what helped him win. The thought that only one person had ever done real harm to him was enough to feel invincible, and that wasn't even in the ring. The knowledge that in his ten-year career he'd only lost a handful of times was what made his arrogance come out in the ring.   

He had begun to doze lightly when his phone started ringing, the high-pitched noise that meant one person only. Checking the caller ID briefly, he swiped his finger across the screen to answer the call.   

“This had better be good news, fucker, it's too late at night to be taking personal calls.” There was a bit of teasing threat in his voice, and the man on the other line chuckled.

“Like I'm one to make personal calls to you, asshole. Did you want to hear the news I have for you, or would you rather wait ‘til the morning?” 

“The fuck is it, Bronn? What was so important that you had to call at 11:18 at night? It’s been a long goddamn day,” Sandor said with a huff.  

 “I thought you should know someone’s out there putting information into people’s ears. Before I even had a chance to get in contact with any of the gyms you showed interest in, I had three very interesting phone calls inquiring about your status,” Bronn said, his tone smug.   
  
  Bronn Blackwater had been managing his career since Sandor was 23, nearly ten years now. He was good at what he did; smart, cunning, and witty, three things you needed in this business. Over the years, the two had grown to be friends, Bronn the one forcing Sandor into his rehab stint after he fucked his leg up all those years ago. Their relationship was a love/hate one however, both men being very hot headed and stubborn.

“Oh, aye. That would be Pycelle for you. Brienne hardly wants me near a gym, not a chance she'd be saying shit to anyone.” Sandor sighed, turning the TV off with the remote. He stood and stretched, making his way toward his bedroom.   

“I believe that. Never trusted that doctor, too nosy for his own good,” Bronn said. Sandor could practically hear the man’s eyes rolling in his head. “You interested in hearing who called or not? I'd like to sleep sometime tonight too.”  
  
  Sandor threw himself down on his bed, stifling a yawn in his throat. “You’d better not be wasting my time with this. I'm not interested in some upstart little shit gym hoping to get some notoriety by training ‘The Hound’ to his comeback.”   
  
 “Luckily for you, they are all well established. I let them know that your future is still up in the air, but I'd get in contact if we were interested in discussing anything. The first call came from _The Gym at Highgarden._ ” Bronn told him, to which Sandor gave an immediate no.   Young Loras Tyrell was a good fighter, that was certain, but two things held Sandor back from being interested. The first was the fact that not a single man who trained there was near his size, which wouldn’t help him in sparring at all. The second was that low life scum, Petyr Baelish. He did finances for the Tyrells, and Sandor had no trust for the fucker.

“I figured you'd say that. I don't even want to tell you who my second call was from, if that’s the response you give the Tyrells.” Bronn scoffed.

“ _Lion’s Den,_ was it? Fuck that, I'd rather stay out of the ring than fight for the Lannisters. I injured my leg, not my goddamn head. I told them to fuck off eight years ago, my feelings for them haven't lessened,” Sandor all but growled into the phone.  

If Petyr Baelish was low life scum, the Lannisters made him look like a godforsaken angel. They owned a gym named  _The Rock,_ but most circles in the MMA world referred to it as the  _Lion’s Den,_ because the Lannisters would eat anyone alive who didn't perform to expectation for them. Seedy business dealings all around, Tywin Lannister was as vicious as the lion his family so proudly displayed as their symbol. 

“I'll have you know not all the Lannisters are rat bastards. I've been drinking buddies with Tyrion for years, and Brienne is seeing Jaime. It's Cersei you need to look out for, she's fucking off her rocker, that one.” Bronn spoke the truth, even if it wasn't what Sandor wanted to hear. It didn't matter much anyway, there was not a chance in hell he'd be calling the Lannisters back.

“You won't believe me when I tell you who the last call was from. Barristan Selmy.” The name hit Sandor like a wall of bricks. Whoever hired Selmy must have made him a good offer to come out of retirement.  
  
  “Selmy? Out of retirement? Who the fuck got him to do that?”   
  
 “ _Three Dragons Gym_. Seems our old friend Drogo is doing well for himself these days. It doesn't hurt his pretty little wife has a head for running a business.” Bronn chuckled.  

“Dany? She's a smart one, all right. Convinced all of us she was 18 when she was what, 15, 16 years old? Drogo would have never touched her if he knew she was jail bait.” Sandor sighed. He was friends with Drogo, his wife was a different story. The girl had always been wary of him, never rude exactly, but there was an icy quality to Daenerys that Sandor had never been able to break through.   

“I set up a meeting with them,” Bronn cut into his thoughts. “Tomorrow morning. 10 o'clock at the gym itself.” -

“You set a meeting up without even asking if I'd want one?” Sandor said a little more angrily than he intended.

“Aye, that I did. I know you, Sandor. I know you have no desire to half-ass this return, and I know Barristan Selmy is the exact person to help you,” Bronn spoke, his voice lacking its normal mocking edge. “Plus, Drogo's been a friend of both of ours for years. It was fucking hard to say no to them.”   

Sandor squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his temple. He had little and less people he could consider friends, and Drogo was one of the few. That being said, he was supposed to be at PT from 8:30 to 10 every morning, part of the agreement he made to Brienne so he could go back to training. Blowing off PT would mean pissing her off, which wasn't the way to go.  _That and you want to get a look at the Stark girl._ It was a morbid curiosity that had infested his brain.

Making his mind up, he let out a deep breath. “It's too late to call Brienne now, but I'll get a hold of her in the morning. This had better not be a waste of my fucking time, this is serious, Bronn. This is my career we're talking about here.” 

“I know mate, mine too. My other clients don't quite have the pull of ‘The Hound’, you know?” Bronn chuckled again.

“Get some sleep Bronn, I'll see you in the morning,” Sandor said, disconnecting the call.  

He lay back in his bed, rubbing his hand across his scarred cheek. A meeting with Barristan Selmy,  _fuck me sideways_ , that was not what he had expected when he saw Bronn on his call screen. He was excited for it, there was no disguising that, but a little part of him was nervous too. In the four years since his accident, everything he did was in order to get him back in the ring. And here was his golden opportunity, right in front of him. He just needed to be on tomorrow, be that charming man he could be when needed, and not the asshole as that most of the business saw him.   

Plugging his phone into the charger next to his bed, he stripped down and crawled under the sheets. He willed himself to sleep, thoughts of the little bird starting to creep into his conscious. Maybe he'd dream of her tonight, and he'd pay attention to her name, like he promised Elder Brother.

 

  \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

 

It had been three days since the little bird had woken from her dreamwine-induced sleep, and just yesterday Grand Maester Pycelle had given the little shit of a king word that the girl could return to court. This morning, while attending His Grace, the girl was ordered back into the vipers pit, declaring she had had a long enough reprieve.  

“Make sure she's appropriately ready for her king, dog. I won't have her making a fool out of me today,” the boy had sneered before dismissing Sandor for the morning.    
  
That was how he now found himself standing outside the little bird’s buggering bedchamber, having knocked but a few minutes ago. The maid had answered, peeking around the door and telling him that her lady was still getting dressed and wanted to look her best for the king. _Wanting to_ _please him so she won’t get another beating, more like_ , Sandor thought bitterly. The thought of watching the girl getting hit again so soon was enough to make his stomach roll, but maybe that was the wine.   

The door in front of him opened, the maid bidding him to enter. Stepping over the threshold, Sandor walked into the small antechamber connected to the bedroom. The little bird entered the room, eyes downcast as usual, trying to make herself look small. Despite it all, she looked radiant.  _Like a godsdamn queen... Watch yourself, dog._

Her long auburn hair was twisted up into whatever style the southron women at court found favorable at the moment. Too many braids and pins, in Sandor's opinion, but he wasn't paid to give ladies his thoughts on their buggering hair. Her dress, which had clearly been let out a few times, was a deep purple, stretched tight across her chest and hips. It did nothing to hide the womanly figure that she was starting to show now, in obvious need of new gowns.   

A quiet “Hello, Ser” broke him out of his thoughts, realizing that he must have been staring at the girl. Sandor diverted his eyes and cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet.   

“I'm no fucking Ser, girl, I've told you before,” he rasped, surprised to see the girl looking him in the eyes when he turned his face back to her. _Finally realizing there are worse things than my face here, huh little bird?_

 “My apologies. I'm just unsure how to address you. You're not a Ser, nor a lord.” Her bright Tully eyes twinkled almost mischievously.

“Hound will do. Dog even, makes no matter to me.”   

The girl looked at him with anger in her eyes, though it quickly turned to something akin to sympathy. “I will not call you ‘dog’. You are a man, not a dog, no matter what His Grace says. Though I have no desire to refer to you as ‘Hound’, either. It's just as bad.” 

 Sandor sighed deeply. He wasn't sure what to make of all this chirping the little bird was doing right now, why the fuck did it matter what she called him?

“Aye. Call me by my name if you must call me anything, then. It's just as informal as the other options, girl. We must leave now, His Grace will be angry if you're late,” he said, turning towards the door of the chamber.    
  
Much to his surprise, the little bird walked right up to him, wrapping her tiny hand around the elbow he did not offer. He led them out of the room and into the hallway, headed towards the throne room. They walked in relative silence near most of the time. The little bird smiled at everyone who passed, offering a word or two in return to various persons.   

“I'm certain I've missed many exciting issues these past few weeks. I'm afraid I'm of a delicate nature, these heat waves here in the south are too much for my northern blood,” she said as they walked through an empty corridor, trying to fill the silence.

  “No need to chirp so prettily for me, little bird. I was there, watched Trant beat you fucking bloody, like the honorable knight he is,” Sandor sneered, watching the girl’s face, hoping for a reaction. 

 “I remember.” Her voice came more quietly now. “It hurt, but I could not give Joffrey the pleasure of my tears.” 

 “No little bird, not a peep from you,” Sandor rasped, grinning wryly. “Fucking angry Joff was, too.”  

“It's the only way I win. I won't let him have that from me.”   There was steel in her voice then. 

They reached the throne room shortly after, the girl removing her hand from his elbow as two red cloaks opened the double doors. She glanced up briefly at him, a small smile on her face. “Thank you, Sandor.” And with that, the little bird flitted away, making her way through the crowd of people. Sandor stood dumbfounded for a second time that day, shaking himself out of his reverie to move towards his spot to the side of the Iron Throne.

 

  \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

 

Sandor sat up suddenly, his alarm blaring in his ear. Looking at the time, he realized it had been going off for ten minutes at least.  _Fucking slept too well last night,_   he thought, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He needed to call Brienne, to let her know what was going on. Despite the early hour, he knew she'd be awake.  _Probably already back from a good run too, knowing her._

 He selected Brienne’s number from his contacts, waiting anxiously for her to pick up. The line buzzed a few times before her ever-cheerful voice filled the line. “Good morning Sandor. You're not one to call this early, something the matter?”  

 “I need to cancel for today. Bronn set up a meeting with a gym, they want me to come in and discuss the possibility of my training there,” he said, sitting on the end of his bed, stretching his gimp leg out the best he could.

“Oh. Well the only other appointment I have is the Starks today, you can feel free to stop by after your meeting. You need to keep up your end of the bargain if you want me to be okay with this training.” He could hear her holding back from scolding him.   
  
  “Aye. I'll do that. I would have called last night, but Bronn called me fucking late. Figured you and Lannister wouldn't appreciate me calling at midnight,” Sandor told her, chuckling a bit.

Brienne laughed. “No. Jaime would have pummeled you for sure for interrupting us. Not that you wanted to know that.”    
  
 “No need to remind that you're getting some and I'm not,” he shot back. The banter between them was always a mixture of biting sarcasm, dry wit and cheap shots.

“Just let me know when you'll be on your way over. I'm going to keep the Starks there as long as they can stay, it's my first time meeting Sansa.”  
  
  After promising to send her a text before he headed her way later, he said his goodbyes and threw himself back on his bed. He was annoyed with Bronn, for setting up this meeting, and annoyed at his fucking self for being irritated in the first place. _If it goes quickly enough, you might be able to get a peek at the girl anyhow._ That was the worst part of it all, he was disappointed that he might be missing his chance to see the Stark girl. Pulling himself off his bed, he made his way to his bathroom, hoping a shower would drive off his frustrations.

 

 \---------------------------------------------- -----

 

 He met Bronn outside the _Three Dragons Gym_ at precisely 9:50am. The shower had helped a little, the drive over helping a lot more. He was dressed up a little more than he would have in the past, back when he went through most of his days in a drunken haze. Sandor wanted to present himself as a professional now, and he wanted people to forget the drunken asshole he had been.   “Let’s head in, mate, showing up early never looks bad,” Bronn said, leading the way to the doors outside the building.  

The gym was in an old district of the city, a former warehouse that had been converted to fit the needs of the owners. Most impressive was the three-headed red dragon painted on the side of the building, sticking out on the black of the wall. A pretty dark skinned girl was sitting at the desk in the front lobby, smiling towards the pair as they walked through the door.

“Hello, can I help you?” The receptionist said, smile never faltering. 

 “Bronn Blackwater and Sandor Clegane,” his manager said, pointing to himself and Sandor in turn. “We're here for a meeting with Barristan Selmy.”   The girl smiled, nodding her head in acknowledgment. “I'll take you right through. They are set up in Dany’s office. I'm Missandei, please feel free to call me Missy.” She stood from her swivel chair, motioning for the two of them to follow her back down the hall.   

Sandor could hear loud music and the rhythm of someone hitting a bag somewhere. Not surprising sounds coming from an MMA gym, but they soothed away whatever annoyance and nerves he had left.  _You’re the fucking Hound. This is what you're best at, what you've been training to do for years. No need to be fucking nervous._

Missy opened a door to a back office, and ushered Bronn and himself through. There he was, fucking Barristan Selmy himself, standing in all his glory. Damn, this man was a legend in the boxing ring, but switched to MMA training when that became more prevalent. Next to him was Daenerys Targaryen-Khalasar, her silvery blonde hair unmistakable.   

Bronn took it upon himself to make the introductions, even if everyone was familiar with each other. They settled down around the desk, talking the normal business bullshit: “When can he start training?, “How limited is his ability right now?”, “What do the doctors think?”. Bronn answered some of them himself, Sandor interjecting when he felt it necessary. He tried to be blunt with the information, willingly giving them Brienne’s contact details so they could consult her if they wanted. Dany kept quiet the whole time, silently observing them with her purple eyes.   

The discussion moved on from the health bullshit to more of the serious stuff. “What are the goals that you're setting?”, “Why come out of semi-retirement?”, “You don't feel too old for this?”. Sandor barked a laugh at the age question, asking Selmy if he felt too old to train someone. The other man laughed at that too, and moved on to some more questions.

 All the while, the woman in the room stayed silent. Sandor wasn't even totally sure why Dany was there in the first place, but she owned the fucking place. _See for yourself girl, I'm not the same man I was those years ago._

 As the meeting drew to an end, Barristan made the offer to train him. Dany nodded her head in agreement, Selmy seemingly understanding whatever she meant by the look in her eye. Bronn agreed to come back over to discuss finer terms of the contract, but the verbal agreement would mean that Sandor was going to have to switch his PT to later in the morning. _She'll have the morning for the Starks then_ , he thought idly.   

As he rose from his seat, he reached out to shake Barristan's hand. The old man had a firm grip, and Sandor met him with equal strength, not willing to be the lesser man. Dany rose too, and took Sandor’s hand in a firm shake as well. She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, and that’s when she finally decided to find her voice.   

“You've changed, Sandor. Sobriety has done you good. But this is my business, and my name that you will affect. I don't want to hear about you being up to your old ways, I won't stand for it.” Dany’s words were precise and effective. She was threatening him to not fuck this all up, or his ass would be on the line.

 “I understand. I look forward to working with you,” he said through gritted teeth.

As Bronn lead him out of the building, he checked the time on his phone. It was only a quarter past eleven, so he shot Brienne a quick text and told Bronn he would call him later. His gym bag was in his truck, and if he drove quickly enough, he could make it to Brienne’s building in twenty minutes.  _It's not like this is your only chance to see the girl. She'll be around!_ ,  he mentally argued with himself.

 

  \-------------------------  ---------------------------------

 

The traffic was sparse on this side of town, so he made decent time to the building that Brienne was in. The Starks’ minivan was parked in its normal spot still, so that was a good sign. Grabbing his gym bag from the back of his truck, he headed in the building, loosing the tie around his neck and unbuttoning the top two buttons on his dress shirt.   

Rounding the corner to the hallway that led to the PT room, he tied his loose hair back into a knot on his neck. He pulled the door open, nearly running into a brown haired girl in the process.  _ Is this the sister? _  he couldn't help but wonder, but the fact that she was standing made him realize otherwise.  

“Oh, hello! You startled me. I'm Jeyne Westerling, Sansa's home care nurse.” The young girl held out her hand, which Sandor shook. He then noticed the scrubs that she wore, and that she held no resemblance to Bran.   

“Sandor Clegane,” he introduced himself, holding back the nasty comment he wanted to make about always startling people. Hell, he was 6'6” and had a scarred face, of course he startled people.  

The waiting room was empty, so he excused himself to go and change in the dressing room. The nurse nodded, murmuring something about needing to make a phone call and exited towards the outside of the building. He quickly entered the changing room, throwing off his fucking tie and kicking off the dress shoes he had worn to his damn meeting. In his haste he popped a button on his shirt, but that shit could be worried about later, and tossed it in the bag. Donning a white T-shirt and a pair of shorts, he laced his sneakers up before heading out to the training room.

Brienne noticed him first, giving him a quick wave of acknowledgment before returning to her patient. It was the girl, her back was turned to him, but the long auburn hair gave it away. Mrs. Stark stood off to the side, a worried expression across her face. She hardly ever paid any mind to Sandor, which a few years ago would have been enough to set him off, now it just kind of disappointed him.  _Too many years spent as a public drunken dick. Not everyone will be willing to give me a second chance._  However  Bran rolled up to him, quietly as ever, giving him an appraising look.

  “What do you want, kid?” Sandor glanced down at the boy, still trying to get a better view of his sister.    
  
 “Nothing. Just wondering why you're here after me. It's normally the other way around,” Bran grinned.  

Sandor gave a deep chuckle, shaking his head. “Aye, it is. If you must know, I had a meeting this morning. I'm going to start training again.”  He knew the kid would get a kick out of that, having been a huge fan of his before the accident.

“Really? I can't wait to tell Arya, she'll be so excited!” the kid exclaimed loudly, his mother shooting him a disproving glare.  

“Keep it between you two. Nothing's been announced just yet, I don't need this spreading like wildfire. Understand?” he said, crouching down to Bran's level. The boy looked him straight in the face, reaching out to shake his hand in agreement.     
  
“You got it, Hound,” he said, a full smile on his face.  

That was when he heard a gasp. Sandor looked back up to the rest of the room, and three sets of eyes were on him. Brienne had a grin, while Mrs. Stark looked at him with distaste as normal. The girl, Sansa, she was the most surprising, her blue eyes full and wide, almost like she had seen a ghost. Standing up to his full height, he couldn't hold back the grin on his face as the girl’s eyes followed him up.   Yes, he knew how impressive he was to look out, his body being one of the few things he had always been proud of.

“What did you just say, Bran?” she asked. Her voice was sweet, and it reminded him of someone he had heard before.

Bran rolled over to his sister, motioning Sandor to follow him. Taking the few strides to the other side of the room, he stopped to stand directly in front of the girl. Her eyes stayed trained on him the entire time, like if she looked away he would disappear.

“Sansa, I'd like you to meet my friend, Sandor Clegane. He takes physical therapy with Brienne too. He used to be a professional MMA fighter, they called him ‘The Hound’. He got hurt a few years ago, but he just told me he's making a comeback,” Bran said, eyes darting back and forth between his sister and Sandor.   

He couldn't help but stare. This girl had obviously been in a long-term coma, you could tell by looking at her. Skin pulled a little too tight, the general appearance of weakness in her features. She looked fragile, like she would break in two at a single touch. Her hair was a long, shiny auburn silk curtain around her body, her big blue eyes the same color as her mother’s. She made no effort to hide the look of shock on her face, in those blue eyes was the look of recognition.  _Why does it feel like I've met her before?_

“It's nice to meet you, sir. I'm Sansa.” She held out her tiny hand, which he easily enveloped in his own as he shook it.    

“I am no sir. Feel free to call me Hound, like your brother,” he said as she let go of his hand. He noticed her cheeks turn into a pretty shade of pink when he said that.  

 “You're a man, not a dog. I don't think I can call you that,” Sansa said, looking down at her hands.   

“Aye. Call me by my name then.” As he said it, he couldn't help but feel like he'd recently had this conversation.   

The girl shot him a bright smile, and then it hit him. The dream from last night and his conversation with the little bird. She'd said nearly the same fucking words in his dream, telling him that he was a man, not a dog. Blinking rapidly, he step backed a bit, taking in the sight of her. The auburn hair was right, and now that he thought about it, so were the eyes. Judging from how tall she sat, even in the chair, she would be around the same height as the little bird in his dream. Her skin tone was the same as well, that creamy porcelain that nearly glowed in the sun. Was this his little bird? Had he been dreaming all along of Sansa Stark, a girl who had just woken up from a coma?   

His heart was racing from the thought, but he did his best to hide it. Brienne had started talking to Mrs. Stark, and Bran was seemingly off in his own world. Sansa was still staring at him, with a newfound curiosity. It was a little unnerving, having someone fucking looking at him like that, but he'd spent years in the spotlight as a fighter, he was used to the scrutiny.  

 “Do you recognize me, girl?” He couldn't help but ask, wondering if she'd seen him fight before. Maybe he'd met her years past, and he'd forgotten until now.  
  
Sansa looked alarmed at that, shaking her head no, but not losing eye contact. “No. Not… not really. I was never too interested in watching your sport before… before my accident. You just… you… you look like someone I've seen before. Someone in a dream.” She bit her lip, looking as if she was afraid to admit the last part.  

_Aye, well you look like someone I've fucking dreamed of too,_ he thought. _I_ _ t must be her. Foolish as that sounds, it's true. Elder Brother always thought she could be real. How many other young auburn haired girls could look just like the little bird? And what are the chances I'd meet someone else, meet her even? This is too fucking coincidental.”   _

Mrs. Stark cleared her throat, breaking the eye contact between him and her daughter. Sansa's blush grew deeper, her smile returning to her face.  _God, but she's beautiful when she blushes._

“ It was nice meeting you,” she said as her nurse helped usher her into her wheelchair. Bran rolled himself out, shouting out his goodbyes as his mother chased him out of the room.   

“I'll see you around?” Sandor asked as she wheeled her way to the door. 

 Sansa gave him a full smile, looking over her shoulder, and nodded her head in agreement. “Of course. I look forward to getting to know you, Sandor.” She gave a small wave as she left the room.

_I look forward to getting to know you too, little bird_ ,  Sandor thought to himself, a grin on his face. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for all the kudos and feedback! I love getting feedback, it's great motivation. :) and thanks to my awesome beta, who corrects my 1am writing sprees. 
> 
> I'm pretty sure Sunday will be my regular update day. It seems to be what's working out for me anyway at this point. I might try to get something our earlier this upcoming week, it's a busy one for me. Halloween, a work training, and it's my birthday weekend (Taco Bar Extravaganza, my husbands idea!) so my normal writing time will be taken up by lots of activities. :)


	5. Chapter 5

[Awake Picset](http://bex-morealli.tumblr.com/post/101311612872/this-is-what-i-did-tonight-instead-of-actually) <\--- I did this on tumblr a while ago! Go check it out!   
  
\--------------------------------------------------------  
  
Sansa looked at the clock on the wall for the third time in as many minutes. It was Monday morning, and she was sitting in a waiting room with no one else but her personal  
nurse and a secretary. Her appointment with the Elder Brother was scheduled for 9:15, and her mother reluctantly agreed to letting her go alone with Nurse Jeyne, so long as she met them straight away at Brienne's after she was done.  
  
Bran had readily agreed to take up the 9am appointment when it became open, Sansa moving into the 10:30 slot. It made for a slight inconvenience this morning, since over the time Sansa had been awake, Catelyn Stark was nothing less but a doting mother. They made do though, and Nurse Jeyne had happily agreed to take Sansa to her appointment while Catelyn took Bran to PT.  Thinking back on everything that had happened since her house call with the Elder Brother, Sansa couldn't help but grin a little. _He's alive, and he's been right here all along._  
  
She couldn't believe that her father’s “best guys” had failed to find Sandor Clegane when he was right under Ned’s nose all along, living in the same city as them, attending the same physical therapist as his own son. As upset as she had been at first, thinking maybe her father had kept that information from her on purpose, even a blind man could see that Eddard Stark was spread thin. He ran his own business, which would have been made easier if he had merged with the Baratheons, oversaw the Winterfell estate, and helped her mother out with normal things at home. Like Rickon and Arya's homework, making (or in his case, picking up) dinner, and running errands. If asked, Ned could hardly tell you the name of Bran’s physical therapist, let alone the names of anyone who was also a patient of Brienne's.     
  
Her mother, on the other hand, knew exactly who Sandor Clegane was, and had thinly disguised her dislike of him. _“I was hoping we had missed Mr. Clegane this morning,”_ Catelyn had said as they left Brienne’s office last Wednesday. _“There are no redeeming qualities in that man. Even if he's cleaned up his act, he'll always be a brute.”_ Bran silently rolled his eyes at their mothers grumbling, shaking his head towards Sansa as they sat together in the back seats of their mother’s minivan. Sansa gave him a half shrug, her thoughts too wrapped up in the man she had just met.  
  
It was a shock when she had heard her younger brother refer to whom he was speaking to as Hound. She had turned in her seat, eyes growing wide in shock to see the man crouched down next to her brother. Without a doubt, he was the very same Sandor Clegane she had been dreaming of, though less scarred than in the medieval castles of her dreams. As he stood to his full impressive height, he had smirked at her, that same grin that used to strike her with fear in the Red Keep, only this time it was less fearful, kind almost.     
  
She hadn't had a dream since last Tuesday night, at least none she could remember. Brienne had been running her ragged at PT, and Tyrion was keeping her busy in the afternoons assessing where she should restart her schooling. By the time she went to bed each night, she instantly fell into a peaceful sleep brought on half by exhaustion. She missed her dreams, as odd as it was to think, mostly though she missed the mental presence of her scarred non-ser, despite seeing him at the PT office now.  
  
“Miss Stark?” The Elder Brother said, popping his head out of his office door and snapping her from her thoughts. “You can come back now, I was just moving some chairs around to make room for your wheelchair.”  

Looking at Nurse Jeyne, who nodded to Sansa, she rolled her chair by herself to the man’s door. It was getting easier to control the wheelchair, gaining some strength in her arms, but she was still a little awkward in the chair. Bran told her it would get easier in time, though deep down she hoped she wouldn't be in the chair long enough to become the expert her brother was.  
  
“Good morning, Miss Stark. Is it okay for me to call you Sansa?” Her counselor asked as she settled herself in the empty space before his desk.     
  
“Yes sir, that's fine,” Sansa told him, eyes curiously surveying this man’s office. A bookshelf on the wall behind the desk, a variety of degrees and official looking documents on the wall adjacent. There was a thick file folder on his desk, opened to some pages filled with nearly illegible scrawl.  
  
“I took the liberty to retrieve some of your medical documents. Doctor Luwin was kind enough to send me various scans and observations from different neurologists that handled your case. I'm sure your parents made you aware that you spent a large portion of time in a private care facility?”     
  
A few days after waking up, her parents had relayed the story to her. While her neuroimaging scans showed activity, she showed no real signs of waking up. It was in her best interest to be attended to somewhere other than Oldtown General Hospital, and so she had spent nearly two and a half years at Citadel Private Care.  
  
“They told me, yes. It was the best option, since there was no real proof I would ever wake up. My parents told me I was moved back to the regular hospital only a month or so ago. Things changed in my prognosis, and Dr. Luwin wanted to be able to keep a better watch on me,” replied Sansa. Her parents had spared no expense on her medical treatments, just as they had with Bran after his fall. It was their duty, or so said her mother.     
  
“Yes, private care is a much better option for long term cases such as yours. I also see that you show no signs of amnesia, though it's been noted that your memories of the day of your accident are inconsistent. What do you remember of that day?” The Elder brother looked over his glasses to her, pad of paper on a clipboard, all in hand to seemingly take notes.  
  
Sansa sighed deeply, thanking back on what she remembered and what she had been told. It was true; she remembered most things quite clearly from before, but that day, as a whole was somewhat muddled in her thoughts. Fuzzy almost, as if she wasn't truly remembering it.  
  
“Well, I was never the best horse rider, that would have been my brother Robb, or my sister Arya. My mother loves her horses, and our property has large stables with many connecting acres, so riding was something we all learned growing up. I don't recall why I was out on my horse, what exactly I was doing, but from what I've been told, they suspect something spooked my horse and threw me off. Robb and my cousin Jon found the horse near the stables, and me off on a bridle path close by.” It was the best she could explain what happened, but the brother seemed pleased with it.  
  
“We're not really here to talk about your head injury though, are we? Quite obviously things have changed while you were in your coma. Not just in the world, but at home too. Is there anything in particular you feel inclined to tell me? Any worries, fears? How have you been adjusting to home life?” His eyes held deep concern, which touched Sansa in a way. This man hardly knew her, yet he was already so invested in her wellbeing.     
  
“I'm adjusting all right. Everyone has gone back to their normal routines, which is wonderful, since I don't want to be a distraction. My mother has been excellent in coordinating my medical schedule to flow with Bran's as well. The only thing is, I feel a bit guilty…” she trailed off, eyeing the floor, feeling the little bit of shame rising up.  
  
“Oh Sansa, there's no need to feel guilty about your accident, it wasn't your fault. I'm sure-” Elder brother said, eyebrows raised in alarm before Sansa deftly cut him off.  
  
“No! No, no. I'm not feeling guilty about my accident,” her voice small, eyes still avoiding her counselor. “No, I'm guilty of not missing my family the same way they missed me. Constant hugs and kisses, someone always asking how I'm feeling, if I need anything. It makes me feel awful, because I can tell how much they all missed me, but I can't genuinely return those feelings.”  
  
  “Of course,” he said, sighing, jotting notes down on his clipboard.  
  
"It's just.. I.. I just didn't miss them in the same way. I didn't  _know_ that I needed to miss them, and it makes me feel wretched. They were _there_ you see, _with me_." She told him, almost pleadingly.  
  
The older man looked up at her, gazing over the glasses that framed his face. “Would you care to better explain? If you can, that is?”    
  
Sansa looked up at that, giving the man in front of her a mental intake. He was here to help her, and nothing she said would leave the room, so she could put her trust in him. It was difficult though, realizing that, since she had spent so long in a place where she could hardly trust anyone. _Save for one or two people._  
  
 “Please, don't laugh. My siblings found this amusing, while my mother outright refuses to listen to it any more, but my father at least hasn't brushed me off about it,” she started, the brother nodding for her to continue, his reassuring smile on his face.  
  
“I had dreams when I was in my coma. I'm sure it's noted in my file.” Her counselor nodded in affirmation. “And they weren't always very pleasant. My family was powerful, my father some high lord sworn to a king’s service. A king who was his friend and used that to convince him to leave our home and work in his service at the capital, and to betroth his princely son to marriage with me. We traveled south; where things just started to get worse the closer we got to the city. Fight breaking out between my sister and the prince, the queen showing her true colors, the king was nothing more than a drunken fool. After some time in the city, my father wanted to return home, he wasn't comfortable with his job and the tasks the king gave him, and he wanted to break my engagement to that wretched prince. Before we could leave, the king died, the prince took the throne, and held my father for counts of treason. They made me beg for his life, write letters to home asking my brother to bend the knee to the new king, they used me against my own family. Then they made me watch as they took my father’s head, and called it mercy.” Angry tears filled her eyes, as she thought back to the events in her dreams. Of course that wasn't all that had happened, but it was a basic account of the tragedy that befell her.  
  
Looking back up to meet the Elder Brothers gaze, she was surprised by the curious look on his face. It was not shock, something akin to recognition, but that was an absurd thought. _Who else would he encounter that had such dreams?_  
  
Finally speaking, the Elder Brother inquired: “A king, you said? Was this a medieval setting?” and Sansa couldn't help but laugh a little. After everything she just told him, this was what he wanted to know?  
  
“Of course. Knights, fools, tourneys, even dragons. I know this will sound crazy, and maybe I am just a little bit, but I knew all these people. Like I really knew them, every single person was someone I had encountered in one way or another. Or at the least, a majority of them were.” That look was back on the Brother’s face, the one that made her feel like he'd heard this all before. He nodded once, scribbling on his clipboard, glancing at the time on the clock. Shuffling some papers in place, he pulled out an appointment card, jotting down the date of their next meeting.“Is there anything else you feel the need to talk about today, Sansa?”     
  
She hesitated, because part of her wanted to bring up Sandor Clegane. Yet she couldn't bring herself to do it yet, since he was a very real person who was quite well known in this world, and she was not sure what to say about him at this point.  
  
“We could talk forever about my dreams. I just want to know if you think I'm crazy.” It was a statement, when it should have been a question. Her father had reassured her that she was not, but that was different.  
  
“No, Sansa. You are not crazy. You're not the first coma patient to have dreams, nor will you be the last. Plenty of people dream about those they already know, though maybe not quite so vividly as you yourself did. We'll continue discussing this in the following weeks my dear, of that I'm sure,” he said, handing her the card he had already filled out. "I just wanted to get a feel for what _you'll_ need from me as a counselor today. I hope to be able to to helpful to your adjustment back into the real world."  
  
  The older man stood to walk her to the door, where she wheeled herself back out to the waiting Nurse Jeyne. Her companion smiled in that bright, cheery, toothy way of hers, standing to exit the building behind Sansa. The girls bid farewell to the Elder Brother, him reminding her to call him anytime if she needs to talk, and the two of them made their way to Nurse Jeyne's SUV.     
  
Sansa pulled herself into the empty front seat, grinning because it had been less than a week working with Brienne, but she could do that now, even if it was a little difficult and she had to tell Jeyne to let her try alone. Jeyne slid into the seat next to her, after folding the wheelchair and putting it in the trunk, and asked how the appointment went. Sansa nodded in return, noncommittally shrugging her shoulders as way of response. Jeyne raised an eyebrow at her, while navigating out of the parking lot and pulling onto a busy intersection.     
  
“Fine, don't tell me. But your mother will ask,” her nurse said, grin on her face.   

“It was alright. The Elder Brother is nicer than I expected, I wasn't uncomfortable at all. It's just weird talking about myself.”  

 “I understand, Sansa, but you'll get used to it. He seems like a very nice man,” Jeyne said as she made a left turn on the road that will lead them to Brienne's office.  
  
  Left to her own thoughts as Jeyne started humming along to some song on the radio, Sansa thought back to where her mind had been previously. Sandor Clegane, this mystery of a man, who she'd only seen in passing since their initial meeting nearly a week ago. He was normally showing up at Brienne's around the same time the Starks were leaving, giving a wide berth to Catelyn, but giving a high five to Bran, joking around with her younger brother while waiting for Brienne to be finished with Sansa. He was a little more reserved with her, she'd noticed, always taking a seat next to her chair while her mother talked to Brienne in the office. He was polite, or more so than the scarred warrior version of him had been, asking questions with a sense of curiosity that amused her.     
  
Never the “How are you doing?”, “Are you happy to be home?”, “How long will you be in the chair?”, the normal questions anyone new would ask. No, he asked about her, about herself, her likes, dislikes, how she was catching back up to the world she missed. They would talk about movies she'd watched with Arya, or her schoolwork, and how she was trying to figure out who Nurse Jeyne was texting all the time. He was still coarse, he swore like a sailor, and was crude as he had ever been in the Red Keep, but there was something gentler about him here. _It's his eyes, his eyes are less angry. He's just altogether healthier here._     
  
She looked up when she realized they were no longer moving and noticed Jeyne’s absence from beside her. Outside the vehicle was the brick building in which Brienne's physical therapy office was, her mothers van parked in its normal spot in the parking lot across the road. Jeyne opened her door for her, while Sansa refused her help once again, trying to transfer herself to her wheelchair by herself. This attempt was less successful; she finally gave in and let the nurse help her. It was an odd feeling, being able to FEEL her legs, to move them on her own accord, but not to have the physical strength to hold her own weight on them. It was frustrating, as she had lamented to Brienne many times over the last few days. Then she would remember that Bran would never be able to walk again, and she'd grit her teeth and go back to work.     
  
Sansa rolled herself up the ramp while Nurse Jeyne took the steps to open the door for her, when she heard the slamming of a vehicle door. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Sandor Clegane striding over to the staircase beside Nurse Jeyne. Smiling to herself, Sansa pushed the rest of the way up the ramp where she met the two others, Sandor holding the door open for the two ladies while gesturing to them to enter before him. Nurse Jeyne gave him a quick thanks, excusing herself to hurry to the ladies room, while Sansa gave him a small smile before rolling her way down the hall to the PT office.     
  
Of course she couldn't roll fast enough, his long strides catching up to her quickly before slowing his pace to walk beside her. He reached the door to Brienne's office before she could, once again waving her through, while she muttered her thanks. The silence was awkward, unintentional as it was, and she could tell he could feel it too.     
  
Breaking the ice, Sansa asked what he was doing here already, as she had not expected him to show up until after her session was done. “I had a 5am workout at my new gym, and then a doctor’s appointment at 7:45, and then went back to the gym for the second half of my workout. Brienne's not expecting me yet, but I figured I could be of some help. She doesn't have a fucking secretary; sometimes I help her file shit in the office. Keeps me busy.”   
  
“Oh,” was all she could think to respond with.     
  
“And what are you doing here so late? Don't you normally show up with your mom?” Sandor inquired, looking down at her.    
  
“Yes, normally. I had an appointment today, so Nurse Jeyne brought me over afterwards. Brienne's probably ready for me about now actually,” she said, eying the door to the PT room.    “Oh, aye. You're probably right. Let me get the door for you-” he said, before she cut him off.     
  
“No, I’ve got it. Thanks though,” Sansa said, making a move to the door. But the big man was able to block the way, deftly making it between her chair and the door with ease.  
  
  “No really, Sansa, I insist.” The look he gave her was sincere, and it made her blush, she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. It was all too bizarre to understand. Her mother called him a brute, but if she'd give him half a chance, she would see that she was wrong.  
  
  She glanced up at him briefly, small smile on her face. “Thank you, Sandor,” was all she said before rolling her way into the PT room. She looked back over her shoulder, glancing at this man she knew but didn't, and he was still standing there, head cocked to one side, a completely dumbfounded look on his face. He noticed her looking after a second ran a hand across his face and then gave her a slight nod before walking away towards Brienne's office.     
  
“Was that Clegane?” her mother asked, snapping her attention back to the room she was in.    
  
“Yes, mom, it was Sandor. He said he was going to do some filing for Brienne while he waited. He likes to help her out when he can.” Her mother just huffed an agitated sigh.  
  
  “Really, Sansa, I can’t understand why Bran likes the man, and now you too? He's hardly the type of person you would want around,” Catelyn said, her tone icy.     
  
“No, mother. He's exactly the type of person I would want around. If you'd give him a chance-”  

 “We're not discussing this, Sansa. You just met the man, and yes, he seems more pleasant now that he's all but lost his celebrity status, but you need to understand that he's not always been that way.” Catelyn's voice held a tone of finality, and she turned back to where Bran was finishing up with Brienne.     
  
 _Oh no mother, I understand completely. More than you know actually, because I've seen him at his worst. He saved me once, even if it was a dream, and for that I'll be forever thankful to him. This man is much better than that version of him, and you should be thankful he's not woefully drunk anymore._   With that final thought, Sansa rolled herself towards where Brienne was waiting for her. She was determined to make some progress today, and to maybe make Sandor Clegane a little bit proud of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long to update! Busy, busy, busy these past two weeks! Once again THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REVIEWS AND KUDOS! really, you guy's are the best :)
> 
> BUT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE KEEP REVIEWING! I love reading your thoughts and opinions! They mean the world to me!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry for how long this took to post! It's much longer than normal, so I hope that makes up a little for my absence.

_Fucking Tyrells. Buggering golden roses._ He sneered at the thought on the way to his cell, off duty for the night. Standing outside the doors of the small council room could either be boring as fuck, or you could find yourself walking away with a variety of information. Yes, the Kingsguard was sworn to keep the king’s secrets, but he was no buggering knight, and had sworn no oaths.   

Most information wasn't worth two pisses over, no one would be shocked that the crown was in debt after Robert Baratheon had been on the throne, but every so often he would hear something of use. Tonight had been one of those nights, when the little Lord Dwarf had announced that the Tyrells and the power that comes with The Reach would be joining the Lannister’s efforts in the so called War of the Five Kings.  _What a fucking price they come with too. Full pardons, marriage arrangements, and even the empty spot with my sworn buggering brothers._

The Imp argued that Loras Tyrell would be a perfect replacement for Ser Mandon Moore, a third born son, far removed from the line of succession for his family’s seat. Cersei insisted on adding another Kettleblack, one of her “men”, no doubt, but the rest of the small council had agreed with the logic of the Imp. Ser Mandon had been missing for nearly a month, and the spider’s whisperers had only been able to get a slight idea of what could have happened to him.   

Of course Sandor knew,  _who the fuck would ask me though?_ He snorted as he walked through the door of his white cell, stripping off the heavy armor as he grabbed a flagon of wine, taking a long tug. Ser Mandon had a gambling problem, which any one of the Kingsguard could tell you, and owed some thugs some hundred gold dragons. When he had refused to pay, he had gone missing while off duty. Sandor suspected Littlefucker was involved, because it was right up his alley, but if that piece of shit was good at one thing, it was keeping his fucking hands clean.

“Mace Tyrell swears his daughter is still a maid, despite her marriage. He offered to have her checked by a septon, one of our choosing, if we were to agree to the union. This would be a most advantageous alliance to have. The Reach has hardly been touched by war, unlike the rest of the kingdom. They have supplies and fresh troops, food to help feed the small folk. We will regret this if we don't make this happen,” the dwarf pleaded his case, conveniently leaving out the fact that the Tyrells were already on their way to Kings Landing to bend the knee to the rightful king. _Just trading one king for another. How well did that work out for you the first time Tyrell, committing treason to get your blood on a godsdammned throne?_

The council had eventually agreed with Lord Imp, deciding to set aside the pretty little bird for the Rose’s daughter. “She has traitor’s blood. Traitor’s blood would taint the throne if she were to ever give the king an heir,” the old fool Pycelle had said; the fucking eunuch tittering his agreement. And so it was decided that they would formally set aside the northern girl for another would-be queen as soon as the Tyrells made it to Kings Landing. Anyone walking down the fucking corridor would have been able to hear about it too, the way the queen was going on. Sandor got to stand there in stony silence though, pretending he couldn't hear the conversation meant to stay behind closed doors.   

Quiet and stoic as he was, Sandor heard every fucking thing in the whole damn castle one way or another. Being large and silent didn't keep him from listening to everyone’s conversations around him, not his bloody fault everyone assumed it did.  _I should be the fucking master of whispers with all the shit I know about the lords and ladies in this godsdamned city._

Wiping the residual sweat off his body, Sandor donned a pair of fresh breeches and tunic, grabbing his whetstone to work on his swords for a bit. Even if guarding a boy king was the least thrilling job he could think of, as long as they were in the walls of the keep that is, he had always been taught to keep his weapons ready. Sharpening them was a mind-numbing task, monotonous and repetitive, something he could do in his sleep, but as the king’s sworn shield, he always needed his weapons at the ready.   

The wine was starting to get to his head as he continued to work on his weapons, because he couldn't help but wonder who was telling the little bird that she was no longer the king’s intended. The real question was, would anyone let her know or would she find out along with the rest of the court? 

_Of course she's being told, fucking Cersei would have a fit if the girl looks anything but heartbroken over this. Too bad the little bird can’t lie to save her life._

Somehow while caught up in his thinking on the girl, he had donned his boots and grabbed a cloak without even thinking about it, setting aside his whetstone for later.  _Oh fuck it,_  he thought as he reached for his sword belt, buckling it in place as he left his cell. Not entirely sure where the little bird might be at this time, Sandor set about wondering aimlessly around the castle, fetching a fresh flagon of sour red from the kitchens before heading in the direction of the Godswood.  _Her fucking northern tree gods, just as useless as the buggering Seven._ He knew the girl spent a lot of time there, more than anywhere else in the castle other than her own chambers.   

Since the little bird had returned to court, Sandor had been her regular escort. It was mostly a matter of when his shifts were, but the king seemed to think that fucking Meryn Trant was good enough to watch him, so Sandor wasn't one to complain.  _Don't have to listen to his fucking childish whines all day, at least._ Over the last few weeks, the girl had grown used to his presence, she smiled a little more freely and held his elbow while they walked. Though they were mostly silent, it was companionable, and the few conversations they carried on had given Sandor a sense of the girl, a better understanding of each other if you will.   

Entering the woods, he caught the sound of the girls chirping words, harshly admonishing another voice.  _Does she know? Is she really that upset by this all?_ He wondered, following the sound of her voice, while realizing that he knew the second pleading words.  _It's that fucking fool Dontos! What in the seven hells is he doing here with the little bird?_ And so he picked up his pace, making his presence known, before turning the right corner to find the flame haired girl kneeling before the heart tree, a look of anger on her face, while the fool’s face had gone pale.   “Hound… oh… I was just leaving. I had to seek out the lady here… to… um... inquire her...,” the former knight stammered, Sandor glaring down on the smaller man.   

“I don't bloody care what you're doing here. Leave now. I'm His Grace’s own sworn shield, I can escort the girl.” His voice rasped, eying both the fool and the lady, the girl’s face returning to her peaceful temperament at his words. The fool backed away, tripping over his own cloak before scrambling to his feet and running off in the direction that Sandor had just came from. The little bird held his gaze for a moment before returning her eyes to the trees in front of her, touching her small hand to the place over her heart while bowing her head once.

She looked back up to him with inquiring eyes, reaching her hand up to silently ask for his help to her feet, a small trace of a smile on her face. His fingers itched to pick her up by her tiny waist, to touch the silk of her gown and brush her hair away from her shoulders, but he settled for grasping her small hand in his and pulling her to her feet as gracefully as he could manage.   

“What, girl, no thank you? Where's that courtesy of yours?” Sandor rasped as the little bird brushed off her skirts.  

“You mock my courtesy, Sandor. I've rather had enough mocking for the day.” Her blue eyes were like steel, the smile dropping from her face. She moved further away from him to a small bench near one of the pools, sitting down while looking at him expectantly. Sandor couldn't help but let a sigh escape his lips when he realized she intended to talk to him here and now, but he launched into the question of his own that had been burning on his tongue before the little bird had a chance to chirp.

“Tell me, what the fuck was the fool Dontos doing here, little bird? Remember, I can smell a lie.”   

It was the girl’s turn to sigh, folding her hands on her lap and looking away in shame. “He promised to help take me home. More often than not, he's drunker than you when he meets me here. I don't believe him anymore.” 

Her voice was just above a whisper, and he couldn't believe she had told him that. He hadn't expect her to outright lie to him, but the way she said it told him she was being entirely truthful with him. Sandor simultaneously wanted to credit her truthfulness and chastise her stupidity; for trusting both Dontos and himself, since he worked for her tormentor and she was nearly speaking treason.   

“You really are a stupid little bird, aren't you? Trusting that fool, just because he was some bloody fucking knight.” _And trusting me, when you know what I'm capable of._  He snarled at her as he sat in the empty space on the bench, thighs touching hers because there was not enough room on this bloody piece of stone.  

“Yes, Sandor. I'm a stupid little bird, completely mindless of myself.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke to him, sighing deeply before continuing. “I trusted him once, but it's been too long. If he ever meant what he said, I'd be far away from Kings Landing already. I know about knights now, you've witnessed it, I know what they are capable of. I've been begging him since I could return to the Godswood to leave me be, but he won't stop seeking me out.”  

Sandor suddenly started feeling something akin to guilt, because of course he had witnessed her encounters with fucking knights, and the thought of it made him sick. “Little bird,” he began softly, before she cut him off with a sharp look.   

“Sansa. Call me Sansa. Please, Sandor, little bird makes me feel like you're patronizing me.” She gently placed her hand over his where it rested on his own knee.  

“Sansa,” he stumbled over it, like it was a whole new word to him, “Sansa. I came to… wait. I'm not bloody patronizing you, girl!” Sandor jumped from the bench, nearly knocking Sansa off with the force of his body. “Why the fuck do you think I call you little bird?”  

She glared daggers at him, huffing with indignation. “You use it to mock me. Remember, pretty little bird from the Summer Isles? I only chirp what they have told me to? That's all I'm good for, it seems, at least that's how the queen made it seem in my chambers this afternoon.”  

He paced in front of her, and it dawned on him that Cersei made sure she knew of her sudden change in status.  _She fucking would, that worthless bitch._ Sansa was wearing a brave face, but he knew her better than that, at least he thought he was starting to, anyway. She was angry, he saw it in her eyes, but he felt a sense of relief from her.   

“I remember, Sansa. Drunk fucking dog that I am, I remember. Aye, I used to mock you with it once, but that's changed. Or have you never noticed?”   
  
“When is the official announcement being made?” Sansa stands, pointedly ignoring his last statement.

Her long auburn hair was swept over one shoulder, she looked older, more like a woman. Her hips had flared more, and her waist seemed smaller, and her teats, gods, those glorious teats, peaked out from the lower cut of her gown. It was new, he realized, the gown she was wearing, and he couldn't help but wonder who decided the girl finally needed some new clothes.  _Probably the fucking Imp._ He snorted, causing Sansa to furrow her eyebrows at him, before clearing his throat and sitting back next to her on that gods forsaken small bench.   

“Once the Tyrell party gets here. A few days at most. They will expect you to act as if nothing is amiss until then, Sansa.” He rasped softly, turning his body to face her.   

“I know,” she sighed, “when the queen came to my chambers this afternoon she told me exactly what's expected from me. She gave no indication as to when it'll happen though. Thank you for telling me, I can prepare myself. I'll go on as if everything is completely normal, I'm even to cry at court when they announce the end of my engagement to the king. I will have no need to fake those tears though, they will be tears of joy.” Her voice was low, a whisper in these woods though no one else was there to hear them.  
  
  “Aye, and you'll do as they bid, girl,” Sandor replied, waiting a beat before adding, “Why are you telling me these things? I work for the king, Sansa, how can you be so sure I won't betray you to him?”  

She looked him straight in the eye, sizing him up for a moment, as if she was contemplating her next move, like this whole conversation had been a game of cyvasse to her. Raising her head and squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath before she spoke again. “I trust you, Sandor. You're the only person in this whole place I trust, even more than my handmaids. A hound will die for you, but never lie to you, you once said. I know you would never hurt me intentionally, and for that reason, I trust you.” 

“Aye, little bird. I won't hurt you.”  

 

\--------------------------------------  

 

Sandor awoke with a start, his alarm buzzing in his ear again. He ached all over, but it was a good feeling, the knowing that his body was doing exactly what he wanted it to for the first time in four goddamn years. Brienne had not lifted the ban on kicking, which made for a difficult time sparring most days, but Selmy was far from considering him ready for an all-out fucking fight anyway. After two weeks at the Three Dragons, he already noticed the changes in his body. His muscles were more defined, though he had stayed in pretty good shape while in semi-retirement, and he could honestly say he was slowly getting into the best shape of his life.

His limp was getting better, so slight that if you didn't know he had it, you probably wouldn't realize it was there. The Elder Brother had even commented on it when he had last seen him, two days ago at his normal Monday morning appointment. He had once again failed to admit to finding out the girl’s name, not wanting to tell him that the auburn haired beauty he'd been dreaming of for so long was Sansa Stark. It was a piece of information he liked holding on to himself, but if he was being honest he just wanted to get to know the girl better before bringing it up with the Elder Brother. Part of him feared what the brother would say, because Sansa was only fucking 17 years old, and even a blind man could see how fucking pretty she was. As much as he wanted to resist it, tried desperately to, he was growing more attracted to her every fucking day.   

Sansa Stark was more than a pretty face though. She was funny, smart, and fiercely determined. Their interactions had been few, since her mother was an ice bitch who had hated him from first glance, but they were slowly starting to get to know each other. Having her brother around helped - Bran was kryptonite to their mother, Catelyn Starks natural weakness, she hovered over him worse than anything. Sansa would get better, would walk again, but the kid… Well, it would be nothing short of a fucking miracle to see him get out of the chair someday.

 

They managed to talk when they could, her getting a cell phone recently helped, but it didn't beat the real thing.  He wanted to take her out, not on a date really, as pretty and as nice and as smart as she was, she was just not ready for that. He knew deep down that this girl, this half woman creature that she was, was not prepared to date anyone, let alone a 32-year-old man who barely had his own shit together. Sansa might flirt, or at least he thought it was flirting, with her coy smiles and secret glances (that he noticed), but she had just been in a coma for fuck’s sake, the last thing she needed was something else to deal with. Though all of this stayed at the very forefront of his brain, the desire to do something nice for her, get her out where they could speak in private, it intrigued him. As long as her mother was around, he wasn't holding out to hope for the opportunity any time soon.   

Climbing out of bed was slow going, every movement was pushing his body to the limit. He needed a damn hot shower to ease the aches, and some fucking coffee to wake him up. He had his workout with Selmy this morning, then his PT time at Brienne’s, but after that he was supposed to met Bronn at his office. He was officially signing his contract with Three Dragons, Daenerys finally agreeing to his pay, Bronn's percentage, and a shit ton of other details he didn't concern himself with. That's why he had Bronn, to read over the fine print and making sure he wasn't getting screwed over.   

Ambling into the connected bathroom, he turned his shower to as hot as he could stand it before climbing in. It helped as much as he could hope for, the steam easing the tight muscles in his back, trying to avoid the thoughts of the day to come.

 

 \----------------  

 

Selmy put him through his paces today. Strength training was a constant, but there was so much he could do until Brienne gave them the okay to let him kick again. He wasn't the type to take training lightly, so if all he could do was punch right now, that was what he needed to work on. There were other things too that Selmy wanted to focus on; the man had been doing his research, showing Sandor video footage of some of his past fights.  

  _Fucking hell, man, I don't even remember this fight._ It was a thought he had had more than once over the past few weeks watching old footage. It made him feel lousy, though at the same time he felt lucky to be alive. So much of the later half of his career was a blur, all he had cared about for a long time was getting as shit faced as he could and fucking his way across the country. He knew now that he had been trying to fill a void, or at least that was the shit the Elder Brother insisted on, but it didn't stop him from feeling like a fucking asshole.   

Having Daenerys Targaryen-Khalasar always lurking at the gym sucked too. They had had some shit between them in the past, not exactly the best of friendships during the time she spent on the road with her husband, but that was something they had put behind them. Or at least that was what Sandor had thought, until Dany was constantly regarding him with a stony silence in the gym. He was used to that from Drogo, he had always been the strong silent type, but the Dany he remembered was a talkative little shit. Always smiling, laughing, having a good time, none of the cold stares she gave him now. But she was his fucking boss, so he'd continue to greet her each morning and say good bye before he left.   

“That's enough for today, Sandor,” Old Man Selmy called out from where he was sitting near the back wall. The man may have been training him, but he was closely observing everyone in the gym. It was what the man was getting paid to do anyway, and at this point Sandor didn't mind sharing Barristan's attention.   

Sandor took a step back from the bag he was punching. It helped him get his frustration out, beating the damn thing. His annoyance at not being able to train 100%, his lack of understanding why his boss seemed to fucking hate him, and his anger with Catelyn Stark, her constant hovering and ice cold glares making it difficult to properly get to know this girl he'd dreamed about so long.   

“Aye. It's about time to head to PT anyway. Brienne hates when I'm late,” he said, grabbing his bottle of water from the floor, throwing a wave to Selmy as the old man made some notes in a book. He headed back to the locker room, only to grab his bag since it made no sense to change into fresh clothes just to sweat in them at PT.

“Mr. Clegane? A word please?” There was no mistaking her tone as Dany peaked her head out of the door to her office.    
  
Sighing, Sandor entered the small room, taking a seat across the desk from his boss. “Aye. You need to speak to me?” 

“How do you like it here? I know you sign your official contract today, but I'm just curious.” Her purple eyes twinkled, but her face betrayed no emotion.  

“I'm very happy here, Daenerys. Selmy works me hard, aye, but I'm taking this comeback seriously. I'm off to Brienne's when I'm done here, I'd like to think I'm getting close to being allowed to fully practice again.” He spoke honestly, there was no need to be anything less than that with someone with whom he was already walking on thin ice.   

Dany nodded her head once. She seemed to have nothing left to say, looking at some papers before her. He cleared his throat, and she looked back up to him before dismissing him with a look alone.  _I don't even fucking want to know what her problem is._

Grabbing his phone from the bag he kept in his locker, he couldn't help but smile at the text he had received.  _Sansa._ When she  had gotten a cell phone only a week past, her brother had helped her learn the new technology of the smart phones that were all the rage now. He found it funny that he knew more about cell phones than a 17 year old girl, but when she went into her coma people were still using flip phones. They had been able to exchange phone numbers privately, and she sent him text messages every so often. Normally amusing things that happened at home, or her suspicions on who the Westerling girl that was her nurse was texting (she suspected her brother Robb, who was off in college, but she couldn't confirm it.), or something she was learning in her tutoring sessions. It was a good way to connect to her, to maintain some sort of dialog without her mother being in the room. All she wanted to know was if she would see him today, which made him grin a little.  _Aye girl. I'll be there soon._ He texted back quickly on his way out of the building.

_I never thought I'd actually enjoy having a cell phone,_ he thought wryly as he made his way to his truck. 

 

 \--------------------------------  

 

“Fucking hell, Clegane. What has Selmy been doing with you?” Sandor knew that laughing voice anywhere. _Jaime must have been bored at home today, he hardly stops in here._

“What's up, Lannister?” he said, grasping the other man’s hand in a tight shake as the both walked to Briennes office door.  

 “Felt like surprising my lady. That's all. Now seriously, what has Selmy been doing with you? You look even bigger than normal.” The blonde haired man grinned like a devil, flashing his pearly whites as he regarded Sandor.  

“Between training with him and physical therapy with Brienne, half my day is fucking working out, Jaime. It's not something I can exactly control.” Sandor rolled his eyes, shaking his head as the other man headed to Brienne's office, hopefully to help her with some paperwork. _I need to find her a secretary. Maybe one of the kids at the gym is looking for a part time job?_

He was not even in the room for five seconds before the girl called for him, over in some chair at the side of the room. Taking notice of the room, he was a little more than shocked to see no sign of Catelyn Stark, but instead the man he knew as Ned standing next to Sansa.  _Lord Eddard, actually,_ h e thought with a grin, before realizing the last time he saw, no  _dreamed_ , of this man, he was loosing his head in front of his daughter. Thank God that Sansa never had to experience that, watching her father be killed. How fucked up was it that he had dreamed her father dead before even meeting the man? He cautiously made his way over to them, trying to rid his mind of the thoughts of Ned Stark’s head on a spike.   

“Sandor! I'd like to introduce you to my dad.” Her smile is blinding, beaming between him and her father, eyes full of adoration. “Sandor Clegane, this is my father, Ned Stark. Daddy, this is Sandor, who I've told you about.” He just about choked at that last sentence, because the girl had been talking about him? But he shook her father’s extended hand as if nothing was amiss, taking note of the curious look in his eyes and the grin on his face.   

“The infamous Hound.” _Of course he'd know that moniker_ , and Sandor fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Believe it or not, until a few weeks ago, I had no idea who you were. I don't exactly follow much in the media, but then Sansa and Bran brought you up at dinner one night. Since then it's like the flood gates have opened, all of my children just love you.” 

  It made him chuckle, thinking about the Stark kids singing his praises.  _Man, that must get under Catelyn’s fucking skin._ He had met the younger sister a few times, heard plenty about her from Bran and then Sansa, and he'd even met the littlest Stark, him being dragged to PT plenty of times as a form of punishment for his wild behaviors. The older brother and cousin he hadn't met personally, but he knew Bran idolized the both of them even more than he idolized Sandor himself.   

“Oh aye. I've met the younger ones a few times, great kids. Then there’s Bran and Sansa here,” he gestured at the redhead, who blushed that pretty shade of crimson he liked so much. “I don't need to tell you how great these ones are.” _Laying it on a bit thick, asshole, don't you think?_  
  
Ned merely smiled, looking down at his daughter and then over to where his son was working with Brienne. “No. No need to remind me how lucky we are to have these two. Miracles really, both of them." Sandor couldn't help but notice the tear on the edge of the man’s eye and the chocked up sound in his voice, and looked away, a little embarrassed to witness such sweetness.   
  
  “Sandor!” Sansa broke in, trying break up the awkwardness of her father’s affection. “How was training today at your gym?”  
  
  Her eyes held a sort of earnestness, and he couldn't help but tell her everything that happened today. Even the conversation, for lack of better word, that had happened with Daenerys. She listened attentively; Sandor grabbed a chair to pull up next to her, to get on her level. Part of him couldn't help but wonder just how tall she would be standing, where on his body the top of her head would hit, with those long pale legs of hers. If she noticed him discreetly checking her out, she made nothing of it, laughing at his exasperation of what to do with his boss. Ned lingered back, adding comments when prompted by his daughter, but mostly letting the two talk amongst themselves.  
  
  “Why's you dad here today, girl? Not that I miss the bloody daggers your mom throws at me. Just curious,” he couldn't help but ask, as her father walked over to chat with Brienne about whatever she normally would with Catelyn.  

“Oh. Today was one of Daddy's ‘work from home’ days, so he offered to let Mom have the morning to herself and take us to our appointments. Mom fought him over it, of course, but she eventually agreed to it. He's pretty capable, even if he doesn't deal with this stuff everyday.” She gave him a half shrug with her explanation, a small smile on her face.   

It was easy to talk to her like this, sitting next to her, you could almost forget the wheelchair she sat in. Not that she seemed to notice it herself half of the time, always moving her long, long legs from the foot rests, pushing her feet on the floor, looking like she wanted to test the strength of her legs. He remembered the feeling well, wishing to be able to walk on his own, wanting to rush the PT to “get back to normal”.   

“Why are you done first today? Bran's usually the one who goes first at your appointments, right?” Sandor asked, honestly curious about his stroke of good luck being able to talk to Sansa for so long.   She laughed, a high, tinkling thing. It reminded him of a bird, which he so commonly called the version of her in his dreams. “We just switched, is all. Is that a problem?” 

  “No, girl. No problem with me.” His eyes maintained contact, making the sweet blush on her cheeks go even deeper. She regarded him shyly, eyes wandering his large frame in the too small chair.  

“What are you thinking, Sansa?” he rasped, voice low. He couldn't help the sound of desire in his tone, because he'd be a fool to deny that he wasn't attracted to her, even if he no intention of doing anything about it.     
  
“Nothing,” Sansa whispers, not meeting his eyes. “I just like talking to you. I wish we could do this more often.”   

It struck him suddenly, that this was the best opportunity he'd have. Catelyn Stark would never fucking agree to allowing him to take her daughter out, even as a friend, but Ned Stark might. Luckily the man was making his bloody way over towards where the two of them sat, bursting the bubble of their own little world.

“Mr. Stark,” he began, rising from his seat. Sansa's eyes grew wide, full of wonder. _You want a chance to talk to me more, girl, just let me handle this._

“Please, call me Ned, we're both grown men here, Sandor.” He had a bright grin, one that matched his daughter’s.   

“Ned. I was hoping that you'd be okay with me taking your daughter out to dinner sometime. Tomorrow night even. If you're uncomfortable with it, I understand, but she deserves a few hours of parent-free time, don't you think?” He had never once in his life asked a father to take out his daughter, even in the most platonic sense, which this was. It was the most single handed thrilling and terrifying thing he had ever done, and he'd done quite a few things in his life.   

The older man looked him over, all of him. He knew that Ned Stark was taking in his towering height, the broadness of his shoulders, the length of his hair, and most certainly those fucking scars on his damnable face. Sandor held his stare, returning it in equal measure. He noticed the way that Ned looked at Sansa, and the hopeful look in her eyes. She was subtly nodding her head yes, urging her father to consent, and Ned sighed deeply before turning his gaze back to Sandor.  _Looks like I'm not the only one who won't deny her anything._

 

“She has earned some parent-free time, I think. And I like you, Sandor, if you still drank I'd happily sit down over a beer with you. Can you handle her in the chair though? It's not the easiest thing to deal with.” Ned conceded, giving his permission, almost his blessing. He trusted Sandor, he could tell, and having this man’s trust is important, since her mother would be livid.

  “Aye. I've got it under control. Was in one of those things a while myself a few years ago. Plus Sansa's getting good at moving herself in and out of it, I'm sure you've noticed.” Sandor grinned, looking over to where Sansa sat. She was all shades of red, from her hair to her neck, proud smile across her white teeth.   

“Okay then. Tomorrow night? You'll pick her up and bring her home after?” Ned asked what Sandor assumed were typical father questions, while he and the girl nodded in agreement.

  As the Starks got ready to leave for the day, Sansa reminded him to text her and let her know where they were going to go. He knew she would want to make herself up for it, even if he already thought she was practically the most beautiful thing there was, not that he'd tell her that. He agreed, told her he’d get hold of her later that night, and she was wheeling out of the door with a smile thrown over her shoulder to him. He sauntered over to where Brienne was waiting, feeling ten feet tall, not being able to control the grin on his face.   

“You know her mother’s going to throw a fit, right?” Brienne asked as he settled himself down to stretch.  
  
  “Aye. But I got her dad on my side.” 

 “Sandor. I'm not going to tell you what to do, you're an adult, but I just want you to remember what this girl has been through. She was in a coma for three years. Don't even think of fucking with her emotions, she's not one of those girls you used to be so fond of.” Briennes tone was chastising, but he understood why she felt the need to remind him.   

“I know, woman. It's not even a real date, just dinner as friends. Friends can go to dinner.” _Not that you want to stay just friends._

 “Oh yeah? Did you not see the look on Sansa's face? She's smitten, Sandor, there's no way she doesn’t think of this as a date!” she laughed as she got to work with him.   _  
  
_ “Can we just get this bloody workout done with? I got other things to do today, woman, and your boyfriend is amusing himself in your office right now. Who knows what terrible things Jaime has done in his time alone,” he said with a laugh and a grin, getting up to let Brienne start her torture of a work out. 

 

  _\----------------------------------_

 

Sandor got out of Brienne's later than normal, what with the serious ribbing Jaime gave him after Brienne brought up Sansa, he almost considered skipping going home to shower to make it to Bronn's office on time. It was then that he realized he was feeling pretty rank, after two workouts his hair was sticking to his skin despite the fact it was pulled into a knot on the back of his neck, and he could feel his shoes squish when he walked; not a fucking chance he was going into see his manager like this. Sandor might have been in training, but he didn't need to look or smell like it all the time.

He took the opportunity to charge his phone, noticing the little missed text icon near the top of the screen had popped up. One from Bronn that simply said “Running behind.”, whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean, while the other one made his heart pound a little harder than it probably should have. It was from Sansa,  _Who else would make me react like this? Not my fucking boss, that's for sure._

“ _ Daddy talked to my mother. She's not exactly happy, but she won't tell me no when Daddy already said yes _ _._ ”, her message had said.  _Of course her mother's angry, she fucking hates me._

“ _Aye, well don't worry about it too much, Sansa. Your dad said you can go, so you’re going to fucking go._ ”  he responded, grin on his face before tossing the phone back on his bed and going to his shower.  

When he finally dried himself off and had changed into something acceptable, he grabbed his phone and sent Bronn a text saying he'd be over shortly. Grabbing his truck keys off their spot on his counter, he locked his apartment up and made his way to his normal parking place. The drive to Bronn's office was fairly short, considering the fact that he worked in one of the high rise office building in the middle of city.   The traffic was light for early Wednesday afternoon, and he was able to find a parking spot in the first level of the ramp next to Bronn's building.   
  
He grabbed his sunglasses, sliding them on his face before exiting the garage to cross the street to the glass building that his manager had been working from for the last few years. Sandor was pleasantly surprised to see no one outside the building, his return hadn't been formally announced yet, but there were always all sorts of fucking rumors going around. Bran had told him just yesterday that some local gossip blog had posted about him being seen walking into the Three Dragons Gym and that the MMA message boards were going crazy with the possible return of Sandor “The Hound” Clegane.   

He walked across the lobby with a sense of purpose, pressing the up button at the row of elevators to wait for one to open. It was his lucky fucking day, because normally he'd wait for a few minutes to see one of those doors open, but today the one right next to him sprung open as soon as he removed his finger from the too small button. Ducking to get into the elevator, the doors closed behind him promptly as he pressed the key to Bronn's floor. He had always hated elevators, they were made too small for a man his size, making him feel a sense of claustrophobia that he had only ever experienced on airplanes as well. It zoomed straight up to Bronn's office floor, not once stopping to let another soul in, and Sandor was silently thankful for not having that experience. Too many fucking times people had turned around and gotten out of the elevator at the sight of his face, or stood there beside him and stared at the mess of his scars.   

Bronn's office was towards the end of the hall, a small waiting area with a secretary named Shae who took care of the phones and running Bronn's schedule, probably Sandor’s by association as well. He pulled open the door to the waiting area, tossed a wave to Shae, and headed to Bronn's office door.   

“Mr. Clegane, you don't want to do that,” the young woman called from her desk chair. It was enough for him to stop mid stride, throw a questioning look over his shoulder.  

“And why the fuck not? If he's on the phone I'll just take a seat, he's expecting me, Shae,” his voice rasped, eyes glaring.  
  
Shae just gave him a look, shook her head and went back to her typing.  “Don't say I didn't warn you Mr. Clegane,” Shae said in a sing-song voice, surpressing a giggle as Sandor opened the door.    
  
It only took a slight glance at the situation to realize why the secretary had told him to stay out. “Oh fuck!” Sandor yelled, throwing a hand over his eyes, desperately trying to rub the sight he just witnessed from his eyes. “I told you so!” The secretary called from out in the waiting room.  

 There was a laugh from Bronn, and an annoyed sigh from the pretty blonde, who just until Sandor had walked in had been occupying the space on Bronn's lap. “Yeah mate, that's what I was trying to do. Great timing asshole,” his friend called to him, while Sandor turned his back on the scene at the desk, hearing the sound of Bronn's zipper making him shudder. “You're in the clear now, nothing to see here.”   

When Sandor finally turned back to his manager, Bronn was standing next to his companion, who was fidgeting with her shirt and the buttons on her blouse.  _Fuck buddy? Girlfriend? Who the fuck is this and why have I not met her before?_

“Sandor, I'd like you to meet Margaery Tyrell. Marge, this is Sandor Clegane, the Hound. I'm sure you've heard of him.” The introduction was awkward, both parties raising a wave in acknowledgment but failing to shake hands.   
  
Sandor took a good long look at this girl, no, woman, and concluded why Bronn was keeping her under wraps pretty fucking easily. She was exactly the type Sandor would have gone for back in his days on tour, when he was a shitfaced drunk, the pretty party girl type.   Marge, as he called her, was clearly young, not quite as young as Sansa, but no more that 23 or 24. She had deep blue doe eyes, a button nose, and her lips were fixed into a mischievous smirk. Her long curly hair was obviously bottle blonde, her dark roots starting to show, but the most interesting part of her was the half shaved head she sported. That, and her last name obviously, since the Tyrells owned  _The Gym at Highgarden_ and her brother was none other than Loras Tyrell, a fighter in a lower weight class than Sandor who had made quite a name for himself.

“Tyrell. As in _Highgarden_ Tyrells?” Sandor couldn't help but ask, just to confirm what he already knew. 

The mischievous smirk was back on her face, her eyes glinting with amusement. “One in the same. We were so disappointed when you turned down our offer to train there, but Bronn here said you don't trust Mr. Baelish." She laughs at that, shaking her head. "No worries, honey, that man is a snake in the grass and I constantly tell my father and nana to fire him.”  

“Marge works at the gym. She's in charge of the ring girls,  _The Golden Roses,_ and works as a bar tender at the clubhouse bar in the gym's personal arena. It's where we met,” Bronn told him with a sense of pride, throwing his arm around the woman’s shoulder with a big grin on his face. Marge looked over at him with those big doe eyes, radiating a sense of love as she kissed him on the cheek.   

“You make it sound as if that’s all I do, love. I help with promotional work too, we work closely with Renly Baratheon's PR firm. I do all sorts of odds and ends around the place, but I love my job.” She snuggled in closer to Bronn, full tooth grin on her face.

  “Aye, well I've fought at _Highgarden_ before, nice place. Seen your brother fight recently too, he's pretty good for being so young.” _Not as good as I was at his age, but he's got time yet._

 They made idle chit chat for a few more minutes before Marge excused herself after looking at the time on her phone, mentioning that she was needed at the gym before giving Bronn a kiss that lingered just enough to make Sandor look away uncomfortably. Bronn smiled proudly from his chair, leaning back with his hands behind his head before crossing his feet on the edge of his desk. Sandor gave him a few minutes reprieve to bask in the sense of pride he held for this woman of his, before he smacked his feet off the desk and through a glare at his friend.  

“What the fuck, Bronn? How long have you had that little minx in your pocket without telling me?” he growled, a little angry that his long time friend kept his relationship from him. Bronn just shrugged, and shook his head, ignoring the anger in Sandor’s voice.     
  
“A few months, maybe. I'm not sure, Sandor. I wanted to see where it would go before I decided to tell you, is all, so take a fucking chill pill, would you? I thought the Elder Brother was curing your temper, mate?”  

“Aye, he's supposed to be anyway. Can't help it sometimes.” He glanced up to see Bronn with his shit eating grin, riffling through a stack of papers, and he couldn't help but laugh. “You fucking love her, don't you?”  

Bronn's eyes shot up at the accusation, trying and failing to hide the emotions on his face. “That obvious, huh?” He grinned again, finally finding the papers he was looking for and handing them over to Sandor, tossing a pen as well.   

“Does she know?” He didn't feel like he was prying, this was his best friend, but this wasn't something they would normally talk about. Feelings. This was why Sandor went to see the Elder Brother, and presumably why Bronn had Marge.  

“Not in so many words. She can tell,” Bronn answered in his casual sort of way, leaning across the desk to grab the papers back after Sandor signed them. “So what's this I hear about a date?” 

  It was Sandor's turn to look up in surprise, noticing the sly look on Bronns face. “Who the fuck told you I have a date? Brienne, wasn't it?” 

 “No,” his manager chuckled. “Jaime, actually. Sent me a nice little text about it. Sent a picture of the girl too, real beauty that one is, a little young though, don't you think?” 

 “It's not a real date, fucker. She just needs a few hours not being hovered over by her parents, she's been through a lot recently, it's the least I could do,” Sandor offered as way of explanation.  

“I'll believe you're not interested in her when I see an honest to God dragon, Sandor. It's been all over your face the last few weeks, always checking your phone, this far away look in your eyes. Come on mate, be honest here. I thought you never lied,” Bronn egged him on, trying to get some information out of him.  

“Alright, I'll admit to her being pretty. Gorgeous even, smart too. She's been through some shit though, and we both know I have too, she just needs a friend now. So I offered to take her to dinner tomorrow, to get her away from the craziness that's her family. Everyone could use a break sometimes.” 

  Bronn took the answer for what it was, and the two of them bullshitted for a while before Bronn had to leave for another meeting with a new potential client. He promised to drop the paperwork off to Dany and that they were going to set up a press conference for later in the week, to formally announce Sandor's end of his semi-retirement.  Sandor followed Bronn out of the office, where Shae couldn't help but giggle when they walked by, and to the elevators.They got into one together, talking about the details of the press conference while riding to the ground floor.   
  
  “Hey mate, you never answered upstairs, but how old is this girl exactly?” Bronn asked, trying to be casual about it.  _More like being my fucking manager, wondering what shit I'm getting myself into now._

Sandor sighed deeply, running his hand down his face. “She's 17, Bronn. She'll be 18 in about 4 months, but it's not a real date, so it doesn't matter.” 

 “Alright alright, I hear you.” Bronn shook his hand at Sandor, waving him off as the elevator doors opened. Sandor slid his sunglasses back on his face before he exited the lobby, following Bronn at a distance enough to not be noticed. They went to separate permanently when they reached the pavement in front of the building, but not before Bronn turned back one more time. “Just be careful, mate, be smart. We don't need another Drogo and Daenerys situation, that was a PR nightmare. I'm an old man, I can't handle that shit again.”  

Sandor gave Bronn one last look before crossing the road to the parking ramp in which his truck was. “Aye, Bronn. I got it. Like I said, it's not a real date anyway. What could possibly come from this?”   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was SO GREAT to write such a long chapter! LOTS OF THINGS ARE HAPPENING GUYS! How great is Bronnaery? I blame the wonderfully fabulous jillypups for introducing me to the idea and getting me hooked on the pairing.
> 
> As always, thanks for all the kudos and reviews. THEY MEAN SO MUCH TO ME! PLEASE KEEP REVIEWING! 
> 
> Forewarning: I'm adding a much needed POV next chapter. While this is a Sansan story, there's someone else who has a pretty interesting story and it needs to be told from their POV. BUT THE CHAPTER AFTER THAT IS THE NON-DATE! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning for mention of a miscarriage.**  
> There is also discussion of a minor being in a sexual relationship with an adult.

Daenerys could only watch as Bronn Blackwater's figure descended back down the hallway leading from her office. The man had brought over Sandor Clegane's signed contract, with the illegible scrawl of a signature that could belong to just about anyone, all terms agreed to without much question. She expected as much, Clegane was so desperate to regain his former fame as “The Hound” that he would never actually read the fine print, and leave it all to Bronn.   

There was a small, miniscule part of her that felt a little bit bad for the main term of the agreement, the part where it stated she had final say in any and all fights that Sandor might be in. In her defense, it was necessary, since this man she was staking her gym’s reputation on was well known for his unpredictability, among other things. Sandor Clegane _had_ changed though, he was calmer, his entire demeanor was one that seemed relaxed, and at the moment the man was completely sober. _For now, wait until his celebrity rises and he's surrounded by enablers again. That will be the real test._

 Dany's gaze fell on the wall adjacent to her desk, to the one filled with all the framed articles and pictures, the one that told the story of her relationship with her husband, at least from the outside perspective of the events. _They_   _always forget the real story, and love to paint me as a gold digging groupie._  Rising from her desk chair, she walked the small distance to run her fingers across the cold glass of her official wedding photo, a smile pulling at her lips as the memories of that day came flooding back to her.   

This had not been their real wedding, but their second one; the one for the public. Their real wedding had been a private affair, the justice of the peace and themselves, Dany in a simple sundress, the slight swell of her belly barely noticeable, Drogo in a button-down with the sleeves rolled up. It had been simple, the way they had wanted it, their own special day filled with their growing love for each other. It had been hush-hush though, under the order of Bronn Blackwater himself, who at the time was Drogo's manager as well as Sandor's, in the guise of giving them their privacy.   

That was not the truth of the matter however. _Public relations nightmare. Career suicide. Endorsement deal breaker._ All those words were ones exchanged behind closed doors, ones that Drogo had told her openly and honestly, because he loved her and their unborn child, and was doing everything he could to fight for them, even if it made the men he worked for upset. Looking at it now, she supposed it had mostly been her fault. Not that Drogo would ever let her take the full blame, but she had been the one to lie about her age, to pursue the older man, to convince Drogo to take her into his bed. The pregnancy, well, that had not been planned, no matter how bad the tabloid magazines or the gossip bloggers had tried to make her out.

Brought from her thoughts by the sound of her husband clearing his throat at her doorway, she turned to him and couldn't help but smile. He still had the ability to make her heart beat faster, with just a smile and the look in his eyes, the deep rumble of his voice could make her ache with her desire of him, even though she had had him many times before. The initial attraction between them had grown into a deep love, despite their age difference, and the lies that she had told him originally.   

“Sweet wife. What troubles you so?” Drogo asked, his large frame swaggering his way to wear she stood.  

“Why would you think something bothers me, my love?”

  “I've been calling your name for five minutes, Dany. You're staring at the photos, off in your own world. What's the matter?” Her husband was so large, it only took a few strides for him to cross the room and take her in his arms, stroking her hair as she breathed him in.  

“I've just been thinking a lot about the past recently, that's all,” Dany sighed into Drogo’s expansive chest. He rumbled a chuckle low in his chest, pulling back to look her right in the eyes.  
  
“Feeling sentimental, huh? Please tell me little wife, what's in the brain of yours?”  

Parting fully from him, Dany wrapped her arms around herself as she went to sit down on the small couch in the corner of her office, motioning her husband to follow her; her husband who just laughed as he picked her up and placed her in his lap, since there was not enough room for the two of them to sit together. Drogo wrapped his arms around her, securing her to his chest while kissing her brow, nuzzling her cheek before letting her go enough for her to look at him properly.  

 “Do you remember when we met?”  
  
  “What kind of husband would I be if I forgot?” Drogo said with a grin. “You were working in that bar, The Magisters, across the road from the arena where the MMA tour I was on was in town. Sandor and I had stopped in for a drink after our workouts, and there you were, serving our table.”  

Dany would never forget the first time she met Drogo, and Sandor by association. These two grown men, both well over 6 feet tall, heavily muscled and tattooed, each with long hair and piercing expressions on their faces had walked into the bar where she worked like they had owned the place. They had been fearsome and impressive, and while she could admit that Sandor was easy on the eyes despite the scars, it was Drogo who had captivated her heart and soul from the moment she had laid eyes on him. The way his dark eyes had swept over her small frame, taking her all in in a deliciously sinful way, the trace of a smile that had graced his face when she took their drink order had practically made her weak in the knees, and despite knowing he was far too old, too famous, and this could cause big trouble, she had already been in over her head from the moment she had heard the deep timbre of his voice, and had known she would not settle until he was hers.   

“And there I was, serving your table. Would you have ever guessed you would marry the girl taking your order?” Dany laughed, it was an absurd question. While she had immediately been enamored with him, the thought of marriage had not been what was exactly on her mind that day.    
  
“I knew I wanted you. And I got you in the end.” Drogo kissed her forehead again, breathing her in, the way that she loved so much. “I never intended to have a wife. I was content with the way things were, you know that. You changed things though, and you'll hear no complaints from me.”   
  
 “If you had known, would that have changed things for you still? If I had been honest from the beginning, would you still have loved me all the same?”   
  
“I fell in love with you the moment I first saw you smile up at me, wife.” Drogo squeezed her a little tighter to him, trying to reassure her in anyway he knew how. “I would have married you no matter what, even if you hadn’t been carrying my child. Only, I would have waited for you to be older, but there was no helping that at the time.”    

The press always conveniently forgot the tragedies that befell her before meeting Drogo, and solely focused on how she had met her husband, instead of the things she had to overcome in her life. Her mother had died in childbirth with her, leaving her with a mentally ill father and two older brothers. Her brothers had been her heroes growing up, Rhaegar served in the military and she rarely saw him, but whenever he was home he'd spend time with his only little sister, and Viserys being closer to her in age and therefore her greatest companion, for her father closed them off from the outside world after the death of his wife. Aerys Targaryen had always been a little on the bi-polar side, but had grown increasingly paranoid and unstable as Dany grew older. She could remember the beginning of the end like it was yesterday, 12 years old and that ominous knock on the door. Rhaegar was dead, killed in action, and it completely broke her father. Aerys was found dead a few days later, the doctors said it was a stroke, but Viserys always insisted it was from a broken heart.   

At twelve, she found herself with only her 18 year old brother, hardly any savings left and no one to turn to. So Viserys worked, did what he had to, begged his fathers old associates for help, for a place to stay, food for them to eat, any and all things they needed. After three years Viserys started to place blame on Dany, everything bad that had happened to his family had started after the death of his mother, and she was the one to blame. She could see the signs, his actions increasingly becoming more like their father’s, the recklessness of a 20 year old man with nothing left to lose. Viserys had made bad choices, trusted the wrong people, and lost his life for it. That was how Dany found herself lying about her age, getting a waitress job in a bar, and taking care of herself at 15 years old.  

“You did the right thing, even if it could have meant your career. You wanted to be a proper father to our son, Drogo.” There was a sad tone to her voice, as there was anytime she spoke of the son who should have been.   

She never thought to find herself pregnant at 16 years old, or rushing to the courthouse to marry her 31 year old boyfriend in a under-the-rug ceremony. Those were not the expectations she had had for her life, but she had long ago learned that nothing ever happened as she planned it. Drogo loved her though, her and their child, and he was ready to leave his career behind to be a husband and father if that was what it would take.

Bronn had been livid of course, especially after finding out that Dany was not 18 like she had claimed at the beginning, but he had done his best to afford them as much privacy as he was able. The second wedding was the one that the public had got to see, the one that happened after she had turned 18. Of course the press had already known they were married, it being public record. Every photo that graced her office wall were from the second one, her in a long gown and Drogo in a tux. The only thing missing from these photos was their little boy, who would have been two at the time, if he had lived to take a breath on this earth.   

“And I will be a proper father to any children in the future, little wife. You are still young, Dany-”  

Dany cut him off, the thought of another pregnancy ending the way of the first one was enough to have made her decide she did not want to have children. “No. No, Drogo. We've talked about this, and I will not go through that pain again.” The look in her husband’s eyes, every time she told him so, pained her; but still she was resolute in her decision.  

“I get no say in this? That's how it will be, Dany?” Drogo moved her off his lap, not unkindly but there was some force behind it, and stood to his full impressive height, towering over her as he paced her office. “It was a miscarriage, Daenerys. All the doctors have told us that it's possible to conceive again, that we can try to have a family. How is it that I want this and you don't?”  

Dany couldn't help the huff of breath she let out, or the roll of her eyes. Yes, Drogo was there for it all, and he went above and beyond to support his young wife in her grief, taking tome off from his tour to be at home with her, but it was different for him. He had never felt the kicks, the subtle movements of another life inside him, and he didn't know the feeling of failure she had experienced when that life had ended. He had been just as terrified by the pool of blood on the sheets as she, but he had been able to hold onto hope for their child longer than her. She had known he was gone, she had _felt_ the body of their son inside her, but there was a disturbing stillness that had ebbed her fear to panic, and then her panic to the knowledge that she would no longer be a mother in a few short months.   

“I can't do it, Drogo. Not now, maybe not ever. Can we please just focus on this? On our business?”    
  
It was Drogo's turn to relent, stopping where he was pacing, and turning to regard his wife. The sorrow in his eyes was _almost_ enough to change Dany's mind, but she knew deep down that conceding to this would only end in heartbreak for the both of them again. Drogo dragged his hand through his loose hair, sighing as he did so, shaking his head as he pulled up an office chair to sit across from Dany.

“I've heard that you've been a bit harsh on some of the guys here recently. I couldn't imagine my sweet little wife being anything but perfectly cheerful, but then I remembered who's been in the gym these past few weeks.” He looked at her now with raised eyebrows, hands clasped together in front of him with his elbows leaning on his knees. He was still a giant compared to her, still intimidating in his own way, though different than it had been seven years ago.    
  
“You haven't been here much. I need these men to respect _me_ as their _boss._ I can't be too easy on them, you understand that.” Dany's purple eyes met his deep brown, the tug-o-war of wills playing between them with just their looks alone.  

“You're not intimidating, Daenerys. These men could break you in half if they didn't know I would personally kill them for it. Just be yourself with them, smile every once in a while, give an encouraging word, talk to them, get to know them. I've been in this business for twenty years, I know every boss or owner whose gyms I worked in, I've had an easier time respecting if they made an effort the same way I have.”    
  
“I'll make a better effort.”   
  
 “With everyone,” he pauses for a moment, locking eyes with her again, “Including Sandor.”  

 “Yes. Including Sandor.”   
  
“If you want the men to respect you, I can think of something that will help.” Drogo told her, grasping a piece of her loose white-blonde hair between his fingers.  
  
  “I'm not cutting it. I will not allow my husband to have longer hair than me. We'd look ridiculous in public.”    
  
 “No, not cutting it. I love blondes, but I've always had a thing for brunettes.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Dany laughed. A full laugh, one full of happiness that could only be given to her by her husband. “Of course. Brunette. That will strike the fear of god into these burly men who train here.”    
  
“I'm not worried about you putting fear into them. Maybe if you looked a little older, they might respect you more easily, that's all, sweet wife.”  
  
  “I guess it's worth a shot. I'll go with Missy when we've closed the office for the day.”   

Drogo grinned, that full grin that stretched across his face and made his eyes crinkle. Leaning across the space between them, he placed one overly large hand on her cheek before covering her lips with his own in a chaste kiss. Dany smiled into the kiss, amazed at the feelings of butterflies in her stomach that she still got after all these years, reaching up to cup her husband’s face with her small palm.   

Pulling away, Drogo rested his forehead on hers, running his thumb over her cheekbone. “I love you, Daenerys. Don't forget.” 

 “I love you too, Drogo. I won't.”    
  
_______________________________________________  
  
[Character Head Canon picset](http://bex-morealli.tumblr.com/post/104292029792/lord-knows-i-should-be-working-away-at-my-next)  
  


[ My Tumblr! ](http://bex-morealli.tumblr.com/)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO TERRIBLY SORRY for how long this took. Writing in Dany's POV was a lot harder than I expected, there were days where I sat staring blankly at my open document just rereading the little I had written already, trying to decide if I liked it or not. 
> 
> Thanks again for all your fantastic comments and kudos! As always, keep commenting! I love hearing from you guys!
> 
> The non-date is next! Yay for some Sansan interaction! Be ready ya'll!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Currently at posting time: This is unbeta'd. There will be errors, but I'll edit to the beta'd version AFTER the holidays. I just wanted to get the chapter out!
> 
> 1/19/15: Beta'd version!

Sansa hadn't meant to listen into her parents’ conversation, she honestly had only been headed to the kitchen for a bottle of water, but then she heard her name, and was glued to the spot in the shadows of the doorway where she lingered. She knew her mother was upset, even a little hurt, by the whole thing, but she was shocked by the venom that laced her words while she paced the length of the kitchen.  

“I can't believe this, Ned. One day, you are responsible for them for one day, and you agree to letting our little girl go out with that vile man?” Her mother seethed at her father, her voice was rising in her anger with nearly every word she said.  

“Catelyn, I didn't see the problem with it,” her father shook his head from his seat at the table, the remnants of their family dinner still strewn across the surface. “Sansa has been through a lot recently, and while she's handled it remarkably well, I just think she has earned a night to herself.”  

“Sansa has been through a lot recently? Sansa?” 

_Yes mother. Me. Your daughter._

“What about us, Ned, what about what we've been through? Not knowing if she would ever come back to us, three years of medical tests and no explanation as to why she wasn't waking up.”  

“Cat, whether you want to hear it or not, from what Sansa has told me, not everything was ballgowns and feasts in the dreamworld she lived in.” Father paused, thinking for a moment on what to say next. 

“I was killed Cat, right in front of her, and Sansa beaten for her brother’s - for _your_ rebellion. She's been emotionally traumatized, and the fact that she's even been able to open up to anyone, let alone this man she just met, well, it's pretty remarkable, darling.”

_Thank you, Dad._

“Why him? Was he there too, some knight who saved her?” Catelyn stopped her pacing, rooted on the spot in front of Ned.  

“I can't answer that, Catelyn. That's Sansa's business, you need to ask her.” 

 Catelyn gave Ned a hard stare before huffing a defeated sigh. “I'm not ready to hand our little girl over to a stranger, Ned. Not when we just got her back.”  

“Sandor is hardly a stranger, Catelyn. He's been going to Brienne's just as long as Bran has been there, and all the kids seem to like him well enough. Bran and Sansa have had nothing but good things to say about him this past month.” Her father sighed, sitting back in his chair, leveling his wife with just a look.  

“I don't like him. You're too easy to trust people, Ned.” -  “I don't understand what your problem is with him. He shook my hand, looked me straight in the eye, and was incredibly respectful.” Her father grinned a little, shrugging his shoulders. “I will agree that at 32, he's a bit older than I would like for our daughter, and the scars are intimidating, along with his size and the tattoos he undoubtedly has, but he had an easy smile which I liked. I was also happy with the way he talked to Sansa and Bran. He could easily ignore them, but he seems to go out of his way to make conversation with them both.” Ned grabbed his wives hand from where she stood in front of him.  

“Well, I don't like the way he talks to them. I don't like him being around at all. He just walks into the Physical Therapy room like he owns the place, and Brienne just lets him. And you wouldn't like the way he looks at Sansa if you paid attention to it,” Catelyn snorts, throwing her hands up in frustration.   

“If that's such a problem, then find them a new therapist. Do you want to tell them that we're not going to be working with Brienne anymore, or should I?”  

“Don't be ridiculous, Ned. Brienne is the best physical therapist in the city, and Bran and Sansa love her. Look at all the progress they have made there, we can't just take them somewhere else without a good reason.”   

“I'm not the one being ridiculous,” her father chuckles, running his fingers over her mothers knuckles affectionately. “I did pay attention to it. Yes, there was a lingering eye, but our daughter is a beautiful girl, just like her mother.” 

Catelyn shook her head at that, rolling her eyes at her husband.  “It was nothing inappropriate, Cat; some affection, but there was a look of pride, too, when Sansa was telling him about her progress with Brienne. I just think there is more than meets the eye with this man, and maybe we should give him a chance.”  

“And if he proves he's nothing more than what I have thought he was all this time? What if he takes advantage of our girl, of her kindness? What will you do then?”  

“Catelyn, he made no indication of this being an actual date. He just wanted to take her out as her friend, nothing more. I have no reason to believe he'll take advantage of her, and neither do you. If they decide they want to pursue something more between them, I would fully expect them to tell us and follow any rules we might put in place until Sansa is 18.”  

“I would never consent to our little girl dating a 32 year old man. You must be out of your mind to think I would.”  

“Sansa will be 18 in a matter of four months, Cat. She'll go right to his waiting arms as soon as she's 18 if you try to stop her now, or sneak around behind our backs. I know we just got her back, but we can't hold onto her forever. Right now though, you're just speculating possibilities. Let our daughter have a night out tomorrow, and stop worrying about the prospects for the future.” Her father stood then, bringing his wife up with him and encasing her in his arms.

“I'll let her go, but that doesn't mean that I'm okay with this,” her mother sighed into her father’s chest, the conversation ending with muted words of love shared between them.  

Rolling back carefully from her hiding spot, Sansa made her way to the small lift that helped her and Bran to the second floor, water completely forgotten. Her parents had given her a lot to think about, unknown to them, and her brain was taking its time to absorb what they had said. 

_He looks at me with affection? Is there something there for him too, more than just pride?_

 

 \------------------------------------------------------  -----------------------

 

Sansa paced the length of her rooms, nervously fiddling with the pleats in her skirts; and double, then triple checking her hair in the Mryish glass that sat on her dressing table. A lot had gone on in the few days since she had met Sandor in the Godswood: the Tyrell party had arrived with all their fanfare to Kings Landing, and she had officially been set aside for the Lady Margaery in a grand ceremony with the entirety of the court in attendance. She had played her part well, Sandor would later comment to her, just the right amount of tears to look upset, but she had held herself with dignity of a woman of her station.   

The Lord Hand had pulled her aside after the ceremony was done, and promised her that she would remain well taken care of and protected while she was a ward of the crown, not that it gave her a lot of reassurance. Petyr Baelish had stopped her in the hall while she was walking back to her rooms and cornered her into talking with him, offering his sympathies to the break in her betrothal when Sandor had interrupted them with his presence. Sandor had practically growled at the man, telling him that he was to escort her back to her rooms and he wasn't waiting all day for his lordship to finish his prattling. Lord Baelish had mumbled his farewells while backing away warily from the pair, while Sansa had slipped her hand into Sandor's waiting elbow. As soon as they were well enough on their way, Sansa had burst into peals of giggles that left Sandor eyeing her with a smirk on his face.  

“What's so funny, girl?”  

“The look on Lord Baelish's face when you interrupted him, he looked as if he had been run through with a sword. Terrified, really,” Sansa had laughed, her smile widening. Lord Baelish always looked so cunning and put together, until affronted with the warrior who escorted her to her rooms.  

“I don't like the man, Sansa, he's not one you should be trusting. Lots of pretty words from him, but words are wind, best remember that.”  

They had walked to her rooms in silence the rest of the way, and Sansa had yet to see any signs of Sandor since. It had been three days since their moment in the hall, which was why she was pacing her rooms. Her handmaid had delivered a note to Sandor for her, requesting his presence as soon as he had a night off, to escort her to the Godswood. She was still weary about going alone, afraid Ser Dontos would continue to pursue her even after the last incident in those woods, and hoped the presence of Sandor might deter the fool from approaching her again. Sandor had sent word that he was off duty tonight, and that he would be able to accompany her to the Godswood after the evening meal when the Kingsguard had their shift change.  

That was why she was pacing, she'd been back to her rooms for nearly an hour and had seen no sign of Sandor Clegane, she couldn't keep the worry that he'd simply forgotten out of her head. “ Maybe I should go by myself?” she thought, grabbing the dark gray cloak with the deep hood from off the chair over which she had draped it, and wrapping it around her shoulders. As she fastened the clasp at her neck, she heard the long awaited knock - there was too much strength behind it to be her maid - and she hurried to the door, opening it to reveal the daunting figure of her non-knight.   

“My pardons, Lady Sansa. I figured I should clean up before escorting you tonight,” his deep voice grated, steel on stone. He wore leather breeches and a dark roughspun tunic, with his olive cloak clasped at the neck, his dark hair still damp.   It took her a moment to gather herself, she was shell shocked at the courtesies used by Sandor.

“Of course, my lord. Shall we take our leave?”   

The walk to the Godswood was made in relative silence, murmurs here and there, Sandor telling her to place the hood over her hair to detract people from noticing them. She clutched his elbow possessively as they entered the thought to be empty woods, a silent plea on her lips to the Old Gods that Ser Dontos would not be appearing tonight. Sandor seemed to be thinking along the same lines, his eyes searching for the fool knight, ready to scare him off again if need be. Making their way further into the woods, they separated as Sansa reached the heart tree, kneeling before it to offer her words to the Old Gods of her Lord Father.   

Sandor stood quietly behind her - she could feel his eyes on her, as if they were burning her flesh with the weight of his stare. It was enough to cause her to turn her head to him, where she caught him regarding her with heavily lidded eyes, a look so intense that she could feel the heat instantly rising in her cheeks. As she held her hand out, Sandor strode over to where she knelt, disregarding her raised hand and grasping her by the waist to right her to her feet. She knew she should admonish him for his forward behavior, but something had changed between them in the recent weeks, something she couldn't quite lay her finger on, but she felt as if they were on the cusp of something deliciously thrilling and dangerous.   

“That was a fine use of courtesy back at my door, Sandor. I did not know you had it in you,” Sansa laughed, pulling free from his warm grasp to sit on the stone bench. Without her needing to motion for him to sit next to her, his too large frame placed itself next to her.   

“Aye, well, you don't last long in the service of Cersei Lannister without having some courtesies. Might be I don't use them often, but they're there. Never know who's around in that bloody castle either, I'd rather not risk seeming too familiar with such a highborn maid, if it's alright with you.” 

He was looking at her through those heavy lidded eyes again, taking heed of her reaction.  

“But here in the Godswood? You certainly seem familiar with me right now, Sandor.”   

“From the lady calling me by my given name?” Sandor threw his head back in a laugh, a real laugh, not one of the mocking ones he had used so often in the past. “This is too open a space to place a spy, even Varys’ little birds would be noticed. No, girl, we're safe to speak freely here. I imagine that's what you wanted girl, was to speak with me, since you asked me to escort you here.” 

 Sansa could feel herself blushing again, for he was right. They were awfully familiar with each other these days, at least in the privacy of these woods or when they were certain no one was around. In this moment she could feel the heat radiating from his thigh through her skirts, where it sat pressed to next to her on the too small bench. It was indecent, to be true, but it felt oddly right, the pressure of his body next to her.   

“A maid cannot simply want the company of her friend? We are friends, is not that so, Sandor?” She had questioned the status of their relationship over the last few weeks. More than acquaintances, that was certain, but she was unsure of what term to use to describe this thing between them.  

The man next to her turned himself fully, his steel gray eyes piercing her own, trying to discern the meaning behind her words. Sansa took the time to study this warrior, her non-Ser, through the moonlight of the Godswood. His dark hair was still damp, long and loose around his shoulders, parted to help conceal the scars on the left of his face, the ones she no longer found as terrifying as she once did. The right side of his face sported a full thick beard, and a far more uneven one on the left, under his scars that surrounded his brow, temple and cheekbone. Sansa's fingertips longed to run across both sides of his face, to feel the difference between the marred side and the untouched skin on his face, but she held that desire back.   

“Sansa.” His voice, low and husky, came out as a whisper as he leaned closer to her. Sansa shuddered slightly, a chill running up her spine. “We're whatever you want us to be.” He leaned back from her then, never breaking their eye contact as a gasp escaped her lips. _What does he mean?_ Her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest she was sure Sandor could hear it too, but he made no indication of noticing it at all.   

“You can call me little bird again, if it pleases you. I've changed my mind, it's not patronizing. It's... I like it.” She looked at him from under her eyelashes, watching the almost lustful expression on his face change to one of surprise and understanding. Tentatively she placed her small hand over his much larger one, a small smile gracing her face.  

“It seems the lady understands the difference in the meaning now, huh?” He took her hand in his, turning her palm upwards while tracing the lines in her hand. His fingers were rough and calloused from the years of training in the yard, but Sansa found she didn't mind at all.  

She let out a breath that she was not aware she was even holding. “I understand. I have understood for a while now. It's a pet name, has it always been so?”  

“No, girl, not always. I did use it to mock you, but you've changed, we've changed. More of a wolf at times than a bird, even if you're still in a cage.” He gestured around the Godswood with his free hand, and through the woods Sansa could still make out the great stone walls that surrounded them. 

 “Sandor, if I'm going to be stuck in this cage, I'm glad you are here with me,” she said while laying her head on his arm, lacing her fingers in with his. She felt him tense beside her for a moment, before relaxing again and giving her fingers a slight squeeze and she could have sworn she felt his lips brush the crown of her head before lowering down to her ear.   

“And this is why I've decided to get you out of here, little bird. We're going to make our escape, you and I.”  

 Turning her head up to his, she saw the sincerity in his eyes at the words that he spoke. Without even thinking about it at all, Sansa snaked her hand up to the unburned side of his face and leaned herself up towards him, her eyes fluttering shut. She could feel Sandors arm wrap around her waist, pulling her closer as she tentatively placed her lips over his. He was all chapped lips and scruffy beard, warm breath and a deep groan in the back of his throat. When he pulled away, they both were breathing deeply despite the chasteness of it all, their foreheads rested against each other’s while they collected themselves. When Sansa opened her eyes she found him looking back at her with a sense of curiosity and wonder.  

“Thank you, Sandor.”  

“Only for you, little bird,” he rasped lowly, placing his hand on the back of her neck before leaning in to capture her lips once again, this time in a much less chaste kiss than before. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------  

 

Sansa woke flushed from her dreams, the memory of Sandor's kiss etched into her skin as she pulled the covers back up and tried to will herself back into her dreamworld. The effort was fruitless, as she heard Nurse Westerlings knock on her door before she entered to help Sansa get ready for the day. Thankfully Jeyne did not notice the blush on Sansa's cheeks as she busied herself around the room, picking out clothes comfortable enough for Brienne's office before asking about her date tonight.  

“It's not a date, Jeyne. We're only friends going to dinner,” she had told her nurse when she pulled herself into her chair without any help, shaking her head at the giggle of the older girl.  

“If you say so, Sansa,” Jeyne had murmured under her breath, while Sansa let out an irritated sigh as they made their way to the bathroom she shared with Bran.  

The day had gone by in a blur, she only managed a glance at Sandor when he was getting out of his truck at Brienne's. They had finished earlier than normal and her mother was eager to get them out of the door, so she had to settle for a quick wave and an apologetic smile sent his way as Nurse Jeyne helped transfer her to the minivan her mom drove. She did her best to hide her grin when her phone chimed that she had a new text, and a very simple “Can I pick you up at 6 tonight?” appeared on her screen as her mother shot her a  _look_ from the rearview mirror. She tapped out her reply while listening to her brother discuss some independent study he was doing on philosophy with her mother, settling back into the seat while trying to mentally piece together an outfit for the night. 

Even Tyrion noticed that her mind was elsewhere, having struggled to get her to focus on the history lesson they were working on all afternoon. 

 “Shall we try again another time, Miss Stark?” the man asked while cleaning up his teaching materials from the coffee table they were using as a desk.  “I'm sorry, Mr. Lannister. My mind is seems to be wandering today. I'll finish the readings tonight and we can discuss this all tomorrow,” Sansa sighed while pushing her hair over her shoulder, her mind not fully in the conversation even now.  

“Whatever has captured your attention must be pretty special, Miss Stark. Usually you're so attentive in our lessons.”  

“I'm going out to dinner tonight with a friend. I haven't left the house without my parents or nurse since coming home from the hospital. I'm just a little anxious to have a normal night out.”   

Tyrion sat back on his spot on the couch, nodding his head in agreement as her shoved papers into a file folder. “Ah yes. I do recall my dear brother telling me that the Hound seemed to be becoming housebroken with a student of mine. Jaime is dating Miss Tarth, he's known Clegane for quite a few years.”  Sansa must have looked at little cross at the housebroken comment, because Tyrion quickly raised his hands and backtracked in explanation. “No offense, Miss Stark. Sandor merely has a reputation from his time on tour, so many women who thought they could tame the Hound, to discover the man didn't want to be tamed at all. Jaime says he shows genuine interest in you however, which is more than he can say about anyone else he's ever been involved with.”  

Tyrion gathered the rest of his things and made for the door, telling her to have a good time tonight and to be ready for their lesson tomorrow. Looking at the time, Sansa decided to head up to her room to get changed, calling out for Nurse Jeyne who agreed to help her get ready. Of course she hadn't thought of asking where they would be going, so she wasn't all that sure of what exactly to wear, and they settled on something more on the dressy casual side.   

Nurse Jeyne paired a white tank top with a high waisted black pleated skirt that had a lot of volume in it, and insisted she should wear a pair of black tights to keep her modesty with the wheelchair, to which Sansa couldn't agree more. Sansa added a black and white aztec printed over sized cardigan and white flats, borrowing a black handbag from Jeyne. They kept her make up simple and light, and Jeyne added some simple waves to her hair with a curling iron. Arya found her way to Sansa's room along the way, and while dressing up was something she found rather boring, she expressed interest in with whom Sansa was going to dinner.   

“He's _The Hound,_ Sansa! He hardly ever lost a fight his whole time fighting MMA, and Bran _never_ lets me go to Brienne's anymore because he knows just how big of a fan I am. So I was just wondering...,” Arya said as she sat on Sansa's bed, cell phone in hand and eyes wide with excitement.  

“He's picking me up at six. I can't promise autographs or photos, but if you're not obnoxious, you can say hi, okay? Just please, don't tell anyone. The news about his MMA return has the internet going crazy, and he likes his privacy,” Sansa said as she wheeled herself around to look her sister in the eyes, and Arya shook her head enthusiastically as she bounded off the bed and towards the door. 

 “Thanks San! You're so much cooler than Bran can be,” her little sister said with a bit of a squeal as she took off down the hall to the black hole she called her bedroom.   

The clock on the wall said it was 5:32, and Sansa's parents had asked her to come downstairs before Sandor showed up. She assumed her mother wanted to talk about what Sansa had overheard last night, and she said a silent thank you to her father when she remembered that he hadn't spilled the beans on just exactly who this man was to her in the dreamworld she had lived in. Catelyn had not been receptive to this alternate reality that Sansa had dreamed of, and for that reason Sansa found it very hard to talk about those things with her mother. Of course she wanted to tell Catelyn all about how Sandor had saved her from the bread riots, had kept her from pushing Joffrey off the battlements, and how most recently he'd scared off Ser Dontos in the Godswood.  _I should probably keep the kissing to myself though._

 

Rolling into the kitchen, she found her parents sitting at the dining room table, Catelyn going through a pile of coupons while Ned was reading the newspaper. They both looked up at her at the same time, her father breaking into a grin while her mother looked far less enthusiastic.   

“Lemoncake, you look wonderful. Sandor will be here soon, right?” her father asked while getting up from the table and crossing the kitchen to kiss her on the cheek. _At least one of them is happy for me._

“He said six, so here soon, Dad. Was there something you two wanted to talk to me about?”  

Her mother looked over at her father, while sighing and shaking her head as Ned walked out of the kitchen. Placing down her pile of coupons, she formed a tight looking smile on her face while beckoning Sansa to come closer to her. When Sansa rolled up to her mother, Catelyn took her hands tightly in her own and kissed them before pulling Sansa into a tight hug.  

“My darling girl, you know how I feel about this, about this man specifically. I don't like him, nor this dinner he's taking you to. But your father seems to like Clegane, and I'm not going to try to convince him to tell you not to go. Just be careful with him, I don't want to see you get hurt by this man. I'm not giving you my blessing by any means, but I'm telling you that I won't stop you from making your own choices.” Her mothers voice was strained, and Sansa could tell by looking at her that this was the exact opposite of what she really wanted to say.  

“Thank you, Mother. I know Sandor is not your first choice, but I like him and I trust him. I promise I won't be out too late and I'll keep my cell phone on me the whole night,” Sansa said as she kissed her mother on the cheek. Catelyn patted her shoulder as Sansa rolled backwards to turn around and head to the main hallway where he father was waiting by the door.  

“Does he know yet, Sansa? That he was in your dreams while you were in the coma?” Ned inquired as he sat down in an old chair that stood next to the coat rack.  

“No. Not yet. It's a scary thought to tell someone whom you have just met that you've been dreaming of them for three years. We'll get there eventually, but for now I just want to learn as much as I can about this world’s Sandor. He's different from what I thought he would be. In my dreams, his scars were much worse, the skin was blackened and it covered the expanse of the whole left side of his face. There was bone poking through, too, in his jaw. Terrifying when you first see it, but I grew used to it after a time. It's funny though, now that I've met him out here, my dream version of him reflects the real life him.”  

“Did the dream version tell you how he got the scars?”  

Sighing deeply, Sansa thought about what to say. She'd never asked waking Sandor about the scars, too afraid that the story would be a carbon copy of her make believe world. Her heart bled for him when she even thought about it being a possibility, but when she remembered her father saying that Gregor Clegane was an evil man, she knew deep down that Sandor had faced those same demons out here. She was resolute in not asking though, if it was information he ever felt comfortable sharing she'd listen to the story and offer what comfort she could, but until then she was going to leave it alone.  

 

“Yes. I know how he got the scars, and it's not a good story. I hope it was different here, but I fear it was not,” she said sadly, her father grabbing her hand in comfort.  

“He's okay now, lemoncake, no blackened skin, no visible bone. He's likely had a few skin grafts and a very talented plastic surgeon work on the damage.”  

“It's not the physical damage that was the worst, Dad, the mental damage was far worse in his case,” she said before she was interrupted by a knock at the door. _It's time already? He's actually here?_

Her father gave her hand a light squeeze before opening the door to see Sandor Clegane nervously pacing the front step. The sight of him made her heart jump and it felt like butterflies went loose in her stomach. He was wearing dark jeans and a simple black button down shirt, his hair pulled into its regular knot on the back of his head, but the smile on his face when he saw Sansa from behind her father was enough to make her smile so wide her cheeks hurt and her face burn red.   

“Sandor! Come on in. Sansa's ready to go, but her sister's a huge fan and wanted to-” Ned said as Arya came flying down the stairs, jumping the last three to stand awkwardly beside Sansa, trying to play it cool.  

“Ayra. Nice to see you again,” Sandor said, extending his hand to her younger sister. It was slightly comical, to see Arya who barely stood over 5 feet tall shake hands with this man who was near 6'6. Sansa stifled a giggle as her sister gushed about how excited she was to see Sandor fight again, and it was his turn to blush with embarrassment. Eventually Ned dragged Arya away, telling the two to have a fun night and reminding Sansa not to be out too late, which Sandor enthusiastically agreed to before stating he had an early gym call in the morning and Selmy didn't care for excuses about why anyone was having an off day.  

Sandor's truck was tall, too tall for Sansa to be able to pull herself into from her chair, so she readily agreed to wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him lift her into the front seat. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks again as he lifted her like she weighed nothing, muttering  _Pull it together Sansa_ when he closed her door and folded her chair to fit in the back of the extended cab. When he got in, she asked where they were going, to which he only laughed and said it was a surprise.  

“I've got something planned, don't you worry. You'll enjoy it,” was all he would say before he started fiddling with the radio, placing it on a seemingly random channel and turning the volume down low enough to hear but not so loud that they couldn't talk.   “Sorry, I find it weird when there's no music playing in the car,” Sandor said almost apologetically.   

“Don't worry, I find silent cars odd too. I just don't seem to know many songs any more. Three years is a lot of music to try and catch up on, you know.”  

 “I don't know, Sansa, you seem like a bubble gum pop music kind of girl. I'm going to venture and say you only listened to Top 40 radio and had a crush on Justin Bieber before your accident,” he said with a laugh, and Sansa laughed too because the man was right.  

“In my defense, I was 14 years old when I hit my head. Not many 14 year olds have serious opinions on music yet. My older brothers keep sending me songs though, stuff they think this 17 year old me would like,” Sansa told him, and while he was keeping his eyes on the road, he nodded his head in agreement and laughed a little when she said she no longer found Justin Bieber that attractive.  
  
  Their conversation slowed as Sandor concentrated on driving, and Sansa wondered if he was always this careful behind the wheel, or if he was taking extra precautions because she was with him. She hoped for the former but wished it was just the latter. Deep in thought, she hardly noticed it when a song she actually knew came on and started singing with it by habit, so wrapped up in her thoughts about this man and her dreams from last night. _Will he try to kiss me, like we did in my dream? Would I even let him if he tried?_ She glanced over at him discreetly, taking in the whole of him, the way his shirt clung to his muscular arms, and how his hair looked in the thick knot he wore at the neck, deciding that she definitely would let him if he tried. She was drawn out of her thoughts by a low whistle, and she turned her head to see Sandor looking at her with an unreadable expression.  

“You should have mentioned that part when you said you liked music, little bird.” He said, eyes serious as he regarded her. The look should have unnerved her, but it only thrilled her to the core with anticipation for something she wasn't sure she could name. She was so caught up in his gaze that it took a her moment to realize what he'd called her.     
  
“What did you just call me?” It came out as a whisper, but it was all she could manage asking, lost in his eyes and her own head. _Little bird? But that's... That's what he... Dream Sandor calls me in my dreams._

“Little bird,” Sandor said, that grating steel on stone quality of his voice being exposed. “You sound just like a little bird when you sing, Sansa. In fact, I might just have to start calling you that.”

 She must have looked alarmed, because Sandor reached a large hand out and placed it on her shoulder, giving it a warm squeeze and asking if she was okay. Shaking her head to get out of her own thoughts, she did her best to reassure him that everything was fine, throwing him her best and brightest smile before he believed her. It was then that she realized they had stopped and parked, and she looked out of the window to see the brightly lit sign for a place called _Martells._

“I hope you like Mediterranean food. I had my manager pick a place to go, since I'm more of a take-out guy. I learned to avoid public dining in my time on tour, but I'm willing to make an exception for you, Sansa,” he said with that wry grin of his, before hopping out of his side of the truck and grabbing her wheelchair for her.     
  
Graciously she once again slipped her arms around his neck as he helped her down from her seat, before placing her back in her chair and walking beside her as she wheeled her way up to the front door. Sandor jogged the last step or two to beat her to the door and held it wide open as a member of the wait staff held the inner door for them both. The hostess was able seat them right away, since Bronn had called ahead and made reservations for them, and Sansa rolled her chair right into the empty spot at the table. _Bonus points to Bronn, for remembering I'm currently in a chair._ After they both ordered water and scanned the menu for their meals, both picking some version of seafood pasta, they experienced the first awkward silence of the night.   

“Can I just thank you for a moment, Sandor? Yes, I needed help getting in and out of your truck, but you've never once tried to help me by pushing my chair. My parents do it all the time at home, and I know they are trying to be helpful, but they make me feel like an invalid when they do that.”   

“No need to thank me, little bird. I spent some time in a chair after all my surguries to fix my leg, I remember being so bloody pissed off anytime someone tried to push my chair,” he said easily, wanting to take no praise.  

“Can I ask you about your leg? I've heard the gist of the story, but not the whole thing. I'm actually kind of curious as to why you still take PT if it happened 4 years ago.” Sansa was honestly curious, but she couldn't help but think if he would open up about this he might open up abut his scars too someday.  

Sandor looked at her soundly, obviously thinking about just how much he wanted to admit to her. She hoped this Sandor lived by the “A hound will die for you, but never lie to you” creed that her non-knight did in her dreamworld. She didn't want to shame him for his past exploits, she simply wanted to get to know him better and she hoped he could see that in the way he looked at her. Biting his lower lip and sighing, he folded his hands and placed them on top the table while looking up towards some unknown being in the sky, then finally settling his gaze back on her face.  

“It's not a pretty story, Sansa. I'm sure you've heard plenty of people call me a drunk, which used to be true, or an asshole, which is still true, but all of it is worse than anyone could make it out to be. I won't tell you all of it, because to know everything you'd have to hear the story of how I got these,” he said, pointing to his scars. “That's a story for another place. Maybe you'll get to hear it someday too. 

I started boxing at 9, my dad wanted to keep me out of trouble and out of petty fights, so he signed me up for some local half ass classes at a gym near where we lived. I was already a pretty big kid for my age, and I had a lot of pent up fucking rage, so I excelled and found that boxing wasn't challenging me enough after a few years. After doing some research on martial arts, I took up Muay Thai fighting as a teenager, picking up on different martial arts here and there along the way. Muay Thai became my life, it was a natural progression from boxing, and being a stand up fighter it was easily the top choice in terms of my technique. From there, I started fighting in bloody underground fight clubs, making a name for myself as The Hound, because I used the Clegane crest on my shorts and robe.” He paused, looking at Sansa to see if she was still paying attention. She nodded her head eagerly for him to continue, and settled back into her chair as Sandor launched into the second part of the story.  

“The underground is where I first met Drogo. We were fighting in the same circles when we both were approached to join a fucking professional league, and the rest is history. We both started winning, bringing home big pay days, endorsement deals and having all sorts of options thrown at us, and we couldn't handle it alone. That's when we got set up with Bronn, who micromanaged every detail of our lives to the point that we didn't know what to do with ourselves anymore; he took care of everything so we could focus on training. While on tour I started drinking, heavily and daily, sometimes for liquid courage before a big fight, and always to take the nerves off after I was done. It helped with the women too, but I'm not getting into that. Maybe when we talk about the face, little bird, but not tonight.” There was a sense of sorrow behind his eyes when he told her this, shame almost; and it broke her heart.  

“I was fucking stupid, Sansa. I got shit face wasted and climbed into the ring after Bronn threatened to pull me off the tour if my drinking didn't stop. At that point Drogo met Dany, and all their drama went down, and she was on tour with him for the time being. I wasn't a nice guy, especially not to her when I had been drinking, but I was still pissed off about a lot of things and Dany being around only seemed to inflame my brooding moods. I never did anything to her except make crass comments and act like a total ass, and we eventually came to terms with each other, but the night of the fight she had said something that got so under my skin that I downed a whole bottle of whiskey before my fight, and ended up breaking my femur and tearing threw muscle instead of winning like I should have.” He threw his hands up, narrowly missing the waiter bringing them their dinner, which caused Sansa to laugh despite the seriousness of the conversation. Sandor gruffed a laugh too, briefly, before digging into the meal before him.  

They sat in amicable silence while eating their meals, both deep in their own thoughts about all that Sandor had said. While she was grateful for his honesty, she hadn't expected him to lay it all out on the line like that. She was glad he skipped over the women in his life too, because despite knowing that at 32 and as someone traveling the world for his profession, the idea of him getting into the topic of all the women he had been involved with was oddly upsetting to her. She knew she would like to know about his past dating experiences if they actually were to ever get into a relationship, but for now she felt better off not knowing the sordid details of that part of his life. Running her hand through her long auburn hair, she felt the need to ask for the rest of the story, since the way it ended left her feeling like he was leaving something out.  

“What happened after the accident?” 

 Sandor placed his fork down and used the cloth napkin to wipe his face, holding out one finger he took a long pull from the near empty glass of water before putting it down and smiling at her. “Surgery. I couldn't feel a fucking thing when it happened, I was that blitzed out of my mind. I later saw the footage of the fight, and it still shocks me that I can walk at all. Bronn forced me into a six month stay at a rehab center, and once I got out I agreed to outpatient therapy. Some more surgery followed, time spent in a chair, and once I got on crutches I started going to see Brienne. Right around the time your brother started there too, oddly enough.”  

“And now you want to fight again? After all this time off, you just want to get back in the ring?” She was surprised at her own words, at the gall she had to question this man about what he was doing with his life, when it was the only thing he seemed to have known for years.   

“I've always been a fighter, girl. It's a rush, its own natural high, the sweetest thing there is. If my body is still capable, then it's what I’ll do. I could retire, but I'm too fucking young for that.”  

Sansa nodded her head with understanding, smiling at a memory of a scared young girl trying to thank a scarred sworn shield for his bravery, and only getting gruff words in return.  _At least he didn't tell me killing is the sweetest thing this time._

“Any other questions, little bird? I don't mind you asking, as long as you keep them to yourself.”  

“Have you ever been arrested?” she asked before she even really thought about it, blush creeping up her face and her hand slamming across her mouth in embarrassment.   

Luckily Sandor threw his head back with a hearty laugh and a grin before giving her an answer. “I spent my fair share of nights in various drunk tanks, little bird, but nothing ever too sinister, if that's what your asking. Now we've only talked about me, what about you? Your life beforehand I mean.”  

“It's nothing that exciting, I'm afraid to say. My father’s business was in the middle of a merger when I had my accident, and when I woke up, I found out that it didn't happen. You know about Bran's accident, and you've heard about mine. I guess I was a pretty average teenage girl,” Sansa said with a shrug of her shoulders.  

“Then what about now?” 

 She stopped as she was ready to open her mouth again, to tell him she was pretty average still, because it didn't feel right saying that any more. No, he didn't need to know about the dreams just yet, but she felt saying that everything was normal in her life was a cop out.  

“I'm still trying to figure that out, Sandor,” she said quieter than she had intended.  

Not long after that, Sandor called for the check, paying for their meals and then escorting her back to his truck. Without a moment of hesitation she slung her arms around his neck and he lifted her up and into his truck with such a grace and ease that it nearly made her head spin. Once he settled back into the driver’s seat, she was filled with the same notion she had in her dream this morning.  

“Are we friends, Sandor?” she asked, her voice quiet and serious. The silence in the vehicle was almost deafening as he turned to her and looked her in the eye. He had that heavy lidded look she knew so well from her dreams, and he paused while she ran her eyes across his frame, taking in his domineering presence that both frightened her and thrilled her in equal measure.   

“Sansa,” he said while leaning across the console of his truck, invading her personal space. His eyes flicked down, landing on her lips for a moment, before returning to her eyes. His voice was low and raspy, full of what might have been lust and what was definitely desire.  

“We're whatever you want us to be,” he said, his voice hot and wet across her ear as she gasped a slight sound of shock. Boldly he ran his thumb across her cheekbone, cupping her face in his overly large hand, before leaning in and placing a soft kiss at the place his thumb had just been. Her skin blushed pink and she sighed out a content sound. 

“Best be going, little bird. Can't take you home late.”  

They reached her house in record time, due mostly to the fantasy world that Sansa's head was swimming in. Sandor lifted her wordlessly to sit her in her chair, and walked her up to the door before leaning down and running his thumb across the plane of her face again. Leaning into it, Sansa lifted her chin to look at Sandor, whose face was hovering dangerously close to hers from this angle.   

“Are you going to kiss me?” she said breathlessly, her stomach filled with anticipation, wondering if his kiss in real life would be the same as it had been in her dream. Sandor sighed and shook his head sadly.   

“Not tonight, little bird. Decide what you want us to be, and maybe I'll kiss you properly.” His voice held a slightly teasing tone, but his eyes were all serious. He smiled as he backed away, heading back to where his truck was parked in the driveway, giving her a small wave as he climbed in and drove away. She entered the house and made her way to her father’s office to say goodnight.  

 “Did you have a good time, lemoncake?” her father asked as she begun to roll away from the room.  

“It was everything I dreamed it would be.” _Almost ._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos. I love all of them! Keep commenting! 
> 
> As it states above, this is un beta'd until after the holiday is done. 
> 
> I hope everyone has an awesome holiday! Thanks for taking some time out to read this massive chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello? Is there anybody out there? 
> 
> Unbetad as of original posting. Beta'd version will be updated soon.

“I have a confession to make.” Sandor said, easing himself down into the leather and wood chair placed across from the Elder Brothers desk. It's too small and uncomfortable, but then again, this is bound to be an uncomfortable conversation.  
  
The older man looks up at him with a sense of curiousness, eye's gazing over the frames of his glasses and eyebrows raised as if asking a question.   
  
“If you need to make a confession, I can point you towards a good friend that's a priest.” Elder Brother says, causing Sandor to shake his head with a barking laugh. “I'm not here to listen to your confessions Sandor, just to talk. So talk then.”  
  
“I found her.”  
  
“Whom?”  
  
“Who do you think? Her. The little bird.”  
  
This piques the mans interest, as he pulls his glasses to rest on the top of his balding head, fingers interlacing and resting neatly on his desk.  
  
“Is that so? And are you going to tell me who you think she is?”  
  
“I don't _think_ old man, I know. I have known, I just haven't know how to tell you.”  
  
“Why would you be worried about how to tell me Sandor? Three years is an awful long time to be trying to find the identity of someone, to be dreaming about protecting that person but never knowing who it is. If you believe you've found your mystery woman, then of course I want to hear about her.”  
  
“At first, when I found her, I wanted to keep it to myself for a bit, so I could get to know her and try and decide what to do about the situation. Now I've gotten to know her, and I see the little bird in her, but there's more to her that I can't quite put my finger on.” He sighed, carefully stretching back in his chair. “And then there's the other bit of information I'm trying to with hold from you, because I don't want to fucking disappoint you.”  
  
“Are you trying to tell me that this girl is just that? A girl still?” His confidant stated, knowing smile on his face.  
  
“Yeah.” Sandor sighs, rubbing his face with his palm. “She's 17, two months from 18. I don't want to be that guy, I've seen first hand what that does to a man. I watched Drogo be pulled through the mud by the media, and how hard he had to work to make things work out with Daenerys. Being emotionally invested in a teenager isn't exactly what I'm looking for right now, but there's just something about her.”  
  
The Elder Brother laughed and shook his head, his eyes bemused. The older man crossed his hands across his chest, leaning back in his chair as he regarded Sandor for a few moments, like he was trying to decide what he wanted to say.  
  
“Spit it out old man. We don't have all day.” Sandor told him, glancing at the clock on the wall. He really didn't have all day, since he needed to go back to the gym after this, and afterwards he had his appointment at Brienne's, where he was hoping to finally see Sansa.  
  
“You tell me that you're not interested in being emotionally invested in this girl, but Sandor, you've been invested in her for three years all ready. Maybe 17 is young, but as you said, you've seen what your friends went through, so I think you would have the sense as what not to do? Now, will you tell me who we are talking about?”  
  
Sandor sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. “You've heard about the girl who was in the coma, Sansa Stark?”  
  
“The Stark girl? How ever did you meet her?”  
  
“Well, she's a patient at Brienne's too. I walked into the PT room her first day there, and she looked so familiar to me, but it took her saying something that she had said to me in one of my dreams before to really realize who it was. We've slowly become friends since then, I actually took her to dinner three weeks ago, but I haven't had the chance to see her since then.”  
  
“That was right before Brienne cleared you to kick again, wasn't it?”  
  
“The day before actually. Which is why I haven't seen her since then.”  
  
“Are you in a relationship with this girl?”  
  
“ _We're whatever you want us to be”_ runs through his head again, for possibly the millionth time since he uttered to words to Sansa in his truck. “I'm not entirely sure how to answer that. I told her that we'll be whatever she wants us to be, and she hasn't really defined it for me yet. On top of that, we haven't actually seen each other in these past few weeks, a lot of texting, some FaceTime and phone calls, but that's about it.”  
  
“It sounds like a relationship to me Sandor.” Elder Brother says with a chuckle, rising up from his chair to lead Sandor to the exit, his time for the day being up.  
  
“I wouldn't know. I've never been in a real relationship before.” Sandor says, shaking his head while laughing mostly to himself. Being with women and being in a relationship is two totally different things he's learned over the last decade or so of his life, and he's fairly certain being with a teenager is a completely different thing an any of his experiences have taught him.   
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------  
  
Barristan is putting him through his paces today. It's been like this the last three weeks, ever since that Friday morning when Brienne finally gave him the okay, the one thing he had been waiting for for three years. It's meant longer hours at the gym, pushing his body to the limit and back every single goddamned day with Selmy, more awkward encounters with Daenerys, who looks a hell of a lot less icy with that chocolate brown hair now, but still treats him with the same lackluster countenance as always. Unfortunately it had also meant afternoon sessions at Brienne's, with little to no chances of running into the Stark's and getting to see Sansa, which he was sure had delighted Catelyn, but had left Sansa and himself a bit more than disappointed.  
  
In some respects, it actually strengthen his bond with the girl, relying on phone calls and text messages, the occasional Face Time chat late at night. They were still getting to know each other in many ways, and while he craved a physical connection, getting to really know each other on a mental level was refreshing to what he had been used to in the past. Sandor wasn't about to throw caution to the wind and do something rash, entranced as he had been by her full lips and the intoxicating scent of her as he was when they had gone to dinner, but the way she had asked if he was going to kiss her almost, _almost,_ had him dragging her up from that damned wheelchair to do just that. Somewhere back in his mind the thought of her being 17, and her parents potentially being right behind the fucking door was enough to stop him, this time at least, because he wasn't sure that he'd be able to hold himself back from kissing her if she asked again.  
  
The dreams were not helping in that aspect either. He was spending his nights in dreams filled with longing kisses and touches, only to be waking up to the the ghost of Sansa's body still pressed into his, hard and aching as he tried to will himself to cool off. More often than not he had the need to take himself in hand while showering, an empty release to sate the urges his dream counterpart brought up in him. It wasn't enough to keep his mind from wandering occasionally during his training, as it was today, and Barristan always took note of when his head just wasn't where it should be for while in a session.  
  
“What's up with you today Clegane? Your heads in the clouds.” Selmy called out from his folding chair that was pushed against an outer.   
  
Sandor stepped back from the heavy bag he was kicking, and scrubbed a hand through his beard while heaving a sigh. The older man motioned for Sandor to take a break and to come take a seat near him. Dosing himself with part of his bottle of water, Sandor reclined himself down against the wall, stretching his leg out as he did so, before returning his gaze back to his coach.  
  
“Tell me Sandor. This about a woman?” Barristan said, knowing glint in his eye.   
  
“What would a life long bachelor like yourself know about woman?”  
  
His coached eyed him warily, giving him a shrug.“A thing or two. Just because I've never had a wife doesn't mean I haven't dealt with my fair share of woman. Now tell me about her.”  
  
It was Sandor's turn to eye Barristan warily, sighing deeply while pushing the strays of his long hair back into place. “I don't know where to start. She's smart, witty, sweet, funny, and she's fucking beautiful. I have no idea what she see's in me either, her father seems to like me well enough, but her mother basically hates me.”  
  
“Parents huh? Still young then, early 20's, living at home?”  
  
Sandor feels his cheeks growing red, not entirely out of embarrassment, since he has nothing to be ashamed of other than his own dirty thoughts, but partially out of anger. Sansa might be young, but she's been through more shit than most people have in their lives, and he's found that experience makes up for years any time.   
  
“Not exactly. More like 17. In high school.”  
  
Barristan choked a cough on the bottle of water he was drinking, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline with a look of surprise on his face.

 

“And no. This is not going to turn into another Dany and Drogo situation. We're only friends right now, I'm leaving the status of our relationship up to her, and whenever she decides to define it, I'll just have to be happy with her decision.”  
  
“Wise words Sandor. Seventeen is young, young girls tend to change their minds quickly. Don't rush into anything foolish son.”  
  
“Aye. She's special, really important to me, but I don't think she's ready to be involved with me. She's gone through some rough shit, her brothers accident, followed by her's and that fucking coma, now she's working on learning to walk again and tutoring to get caught up in school. She's under a lot of pressure, and I don't want to put anymore on her than what's necessary.”  
  
“Wait right there. Are you talking about the Stark girl? Sansa, the oldest one?” Barristan asked, looking down to where Sandor sits with his back to the wall. Sandor simply nods in confirmation, a small grin spreading on his face when the old man bursts into a laugh.  
  
“You've got yourself a Stark then? I can see why you said he mom hates you, Catelyn is a tough one to crack. Having Ned on your side is the best bet though, just keep your actions honorable and he'll stand up for you with his wife.”   
  
“Aye. Sansa said much the same. You know the family then?”  
  
“I do. Knew Ned's father, Cat's as well. Their brood of kids were always a wild bunch when they were younger, except for Sansa. Perfect little lady, that one was. Never expected her to date someone like The Hound.”  
  
Sandor gruffed a laugh. “We're not dating. I haven't even kissed her proper yet.”  
  
“And why not?”  
  
Standing up from his spot on the floor, Sandor stretched his arms above his head, enjoying the feeling of his shoulder popping and the crack of his back. He ignored his coaches question in favor of taking a long pull from his bottle of water, because he didn't quite know why himself, and he didn't want to admit to that out loud.   
  
“Sandor, I know you're a grown man, and you've lived your life without needing much guidance from others, but let me give you this piece of advice. If this girl, if Sansa, is that important to you, don't be a fool here. Is this relationship unconventional? Absolutely. Does that mean it wont work? Of course not. You two may struggle, you may have to work through differences and others opinions, and Catelyn will fight you very single step of the way, don't doubt that, but if she's that important to you, don't let it pass you by. I speak from experience here, when your old and gray like me, you will kick yourself for not taking a chance when you had one. You may think you're doing Sansa a favor by backing off, but you're not. If Sansa is half as smitten with you as you seem to be with her, she'll be just as willing to make this work as you are. Don't live your life in regret son.”  
  
With a clap on the back, Barristan turned away from where Sandor stood dumbfounded, making his back to where his office was.   
  
“I still have a hour left in my session today Selmy.” Sandor finally called out, pulling himself from his revere with a shake of his head.   
  
“And I have a pile of paperwork to get caught up on. I'm sure you can find something productive to do with your free time today son.” Barristan replied with a wave of his hand as he disappeared down the darkened hall which lead to the offices.  
  
Sandor couldn't help but huff a small laugh, looking at the clock on the wall and noting that if he left now he'd be able to be at Brienne's in time to catch the end of the Stark's session. Jogging back to the mens locker room, Sandor shed his sweat soaked t-shirt in favor for the clean one in his bag, grabbing his keys, cell phone and aviators out of his locker before slamming the door shut and hurrying out of the door. Missy bid him a farewell, picking her head up at the sound of his heavy footfalls as he rushed past her desk, trying to hide the grin on her face and making Sandor wonder just how much of the conversation with Selmy the secretary had heard.   
  
\------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The drive over was nothing short of panic inducing. As unintentional as it had been, the three long weeks since he had seen Sansa made him anxious and slightly nervous. Of course their daily correspondence had meant that they hadn't grown apart over this time period, in Sandor's mind they were actually closer than before, but teenagers are fickle and ever changing their minds. Sansa could have changed hers for all he knew, she could just be waiting to see him in person to let him know that she didn't want to pursue a relationship with him, that she wanted to be with someone closer to her own age, someone without the past he had, someone with a whole face.   
  
Pushing those last thoughts from his mind he pulled into the parking lot across the way from Brienne's office, noting that the Stark's mini van was still in it's normal spot, the red glinting brightly under the morning sun. Sandor hopped down from his seat, grabbing his bag from the passengers side and sliding the aviators into place while crossing traffic and taking the steps into the building two at a time, practically running into the building with a building sense of urgency.   
  
Brienne's office was in the far back of the building, allowing her more space for her PT and changing areas, the small waiting area, and the crowded closed off office that she did all her paper work in. Idly he wondered if Podrick Payne was in today, the high school senior who Sandor had suggested Brienne hire to help her with some of the paperwork she'd been falling behind on. The kid trained at the _Three Dragons_ a few times a week and when he had mentioned that he was looking for a part time job help pay for his gym time, Sandor automatically thought of Brienne and her lack of filing skills. It made for an easy suggestion, and Brienne grudgingly agreed that she did need some help now that Sandor lacked in spare time to help her with things.   
  
Rushing into the office door, the waiting area was surprisingly empty. Brienne rarely had clients this early in the morning, which was primarily why she was able to dedicate so much of her time to the Stark's and himself, but he still expected the presence of Sansa's nurse Jeyne to be sitting in the waiting area, tapping away on her phone screen. Just a week ago Sansa had told him in a text message that Jeyne was taking the weekend off to go visit a friend that happened to go to White Harbor University, and that just so happened to be the same school her older brother Robb went to, so it all but confirmed Sansa's suspicion that Jeyne was seeing Robb. He couldn't fault the girl for her enthusiasm, he knew how much she adored both her brother and nurse, for her sake he quietly hoped she was right.   
  
Sandor had never had a second thought about just walking into the PT room, at this point it was second nature. Catelyn never really liked it, but she was just going to have to grow used to his presence in her daughters life whether she willed it or not. He was not paying all that much attention as he pushed the door open, going over in his head just what he was going to say to Sansa, to his little bird, for his lack of appearance over the last few weeks, but even then he was able to pick up on the utter silence in the room.   
  
Looking up, he paused in shock at the sight of his little bird, standing proud and tall holding onto the parallel bars as if her life depended on it. Taking a quick scan around the room, he noticed Bran in his chair, eyes fixed on his sister, Nurse Jeyne standing off to the side ready to assist Brienne in any way possible, and both Ned and Catelyn watching Sansa with tears in their eyes. It felt like the breathe was knocked from him, the sight of Sansa standing there with the biggest smile across her face, beaming proudly at her family and Brienne, and he couldn't help but stand there, rooted to the floor, feeling like he walked into a moment he had no right to be present for.   
  
That very moment was when Sansa noticed him, the smile on her face dropping before screwing up in confusion., and suddenly all eyes were on him. Brienne gave him a weak smile, clearly picking up on the fact that Sandor was unaware as to how far Sansa had progressed in her gait training these past few weeks, while Ned nodded his greeting and Catelyn looked at him with eyes full of anger.  
  
“Sandor?” Sansa said, voice barely above a whisper, none of the excitement that he had expected to see from her in her body language. Instead she stood there awkwardly, head cocked to the side with a curious look on her face, before breathing deeply and using her strength to help her walk back to where her chair waited for her.   
  
“I.. I should leave. I'll be back later Brienne.” Was all he could say as he hastily retreated back to the waiting area. His heart was beating at an alarming rate, and he could feel the anger and disappointment filling him up as he made his way back to Brienne's personal office. _She didn't tell me. Not a fucking word on how much she was progressing in her therapy, none at all. Not that she owed me this, not that she owes me anything, I just thought she'd want to share this with me. Bloody fucking fool I am.  
  
_ He sat himself down in Brienne's office chair, resting his head on her desk while taking deep soothing breathes, some bullshit the Elder Brother had taught him to help control his temper. It normally worked in situations like this, kept him from blowing his top and doing something he was going to regret, but this was a little different than some asshole making him angry. He wasn't angry, not really, he was fucking hurt. There was a knock at the door, and while he had expected it to be Brienne, or even maybe Bran, there she was in all her glory, his little bird, blue eyes rimmed in tears.   
  
“Sandor. Can I talk to you?” She asked, hesitating at the doorway, her chair halfway into the room.  
  
“Haven't we been doing that for the last three weeks? Talking, everyday. What else could you possibly have to say to me?” He shot back bitterly, noting the stung look on her face. _Good. I hope that hurts like the way you've just hurt me.  
  
_ “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I really am. You need to believe that, that I never would have kept this from you on purpose.” Sansa sighed, wheeling herself closer to him after pushing the door shut.   
  
“You did keep this from me on purpose. What did you think Sansa? That I wouldn't have been excited for you, that I wouldn't have been here to support you? Because that's fucking bullshit and you know it.”   
  
“I knew you'd be excited and supportive. There's just so much going on in your life right now, and I didn't want you to feel like you had to be here for me. It's not like it's your job or anything, We're not even together Sandor.”  
  
“And who's fault is that? I put that ball in your court little bird, and despite all the talking we've done over the last few weeks, you've said nothing to me about changing that.” Sandor half shouted, thankful that the door to the office was closed, because this was not a conversation he wanted anyone prying into.   
  
“What did you want me to do? I haven't seen you a nearly a month Sandor, as much as I've wanted to, you don't seem to want to see me. You're busy, you're in training, making a career comeback, and sooner than you know it you'll be back in the ring and women will be flocking all over you. The last thing you need is some stupid, naive, 17 year old little bird holding you back from the life you want to live. I'm too much baggage.” The tears that had been threatening to spill since she came into the room were now freely rolling down her face, and Sandor reached up and gently brushed one away before letting out a sigh.   
  
“Sansa. Little bird. Why would you think I didn't want to see you?” He asked, his voice considerably lower than it had been since the begging of this conversation.   
  
“You haven't made an effort. I understand that you have your own life, I have mine too, but I want to make room in it for you. I just can't do that if you're not willing to do the same for me.” Sansa reached up to where his hand still cupped her cheek, wrapping her small fingers around his and pulling it into her lap.  
  
“I'm trying little bird. I really am. I'm just not used to this. I haven't had to fit anyone into my life since I was a kid, since I got half my face fucking burned off by my own brother.” Sansa made no sound, only nodded her head while her tears rolled freshly down her face, while squeezing his fingers as she urged him to continue.   
  
“I was seven, and we had just immigrated to the US from Scotland. My brother Gregor was 13, already a sports star because of the sheer size of him, with a fucking mean streak a mile long. Kids were afraid of him little bird, parents were afraid of letting their kids play against him, knowing that he was capable of causing a lot of damage. My own father was afraid of him, letting Greg do whatever he wanted. I was just a fucking kid, always doing things to annoy my brother, because that's what kids do. You have brothers, you know, but your brothers would never react like mine did.” Sandor looked over to Sansa, who smiled a weak, reassuring smile, before leaning her forehead against his shoulder. Sandor reached over to kiss the crown of her head, running his free hand through the length of her silky auburn hair, as if she was the one that needed to be comforted.   
  
“We had this gas fireplace in the family room, and there was nothing more than I loved to do than sit in front of it while doing my playing with my toys. Our dad had gotten us these action figures shortly after we moved here, wanting to make us feel like real American kids, but Greg never played with his. He was too old for toys, he would say, so his stayed on a shelf in his room while I wore the paint off of mine from how much I used it. One day I decided that I wanted to play with Greg's toy, so I took it, since he wasn't supposed to be home for hours yet. He must have came home early, or I must have lost track of time, because the next thing I remember was Gregor raging at me about me touching his shit, and my father yelling at him to leave me alone, that I was just a kid. Do you think he really cared? He pushed my father out of the way and wrapped his arms around me as he pressed my face into the glass covering the fireplace.” Sansa gasped at that, picking her head up from where it rested, the look of sorrow so deeply etched into her face. As much as he wished to be done with the telling her this horrible part of his life, he continued on with his story.  
  
“I remember screaming. My father screaming and beating at Gregor, and my brother just laughing. “Hurts doesn't it little brother?” He said, as he held me firmly against the glass. It could have been worse, the glass panels could slide open, and I was just lucky that my father had shut them at that day. After that it gets a bit fuzzy, I woke up in the hospital, face wrapped in bandages and an IV drip in my arm to control the pain. The best part of all of it? My own father protected that fucking monster he called his son, told 911 it was an accident and no one wanted to believe the hysterical 7 year old that it wasn't. I spent quite a bit of time in the burn ward, making sure it didn't get infected, having skin grafts and procedures done to my face, as much as they were willing to do with someone so young.   
  
Remember when I told you how I got into boxing? Well it was to help me defend myself against Gregor, even if my father insisted it was only for my own good. You see little bird, I haven't made room for people in my life, because I've only ever been let down by those who I have. My own father wouldn't protect me, my mother and sister already gone, I've relied on myself for so long that I don't know how to make an effort with people. It's not natural for me to open up life this Sansa.”  
  
Sandor turned his head to look down at Sansa, who had stayed surprisingly quite during his whole story. _Probably fucking scared her. At least I'm sober, unlike when I told her in the dreams, poor bird was fucking terrified of me and my brutish yelling at her._ Instead of the look of pity he expected to see in her eyes, the tears had dried and Sansa just had this knowing look on her face, like she was remembering something she already knew.   
  
“He was a monster. You deserve so much better Sandor.” She said, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her hand was warm and left his skin tingling, and Sandor could not help himself but to lean into her touch.   
  
“Well, people have been telling me that for years little bird. Still not sure it's true.”  
  
“It is true. You deserve a bit of happiness.”  
  
“I'm not so sure I'm that lucky. Can't seem but to fuck things up with you at every turn. I am sorry about how I reacted earlier, if it means anything little bird. I am excited for you, and so goddamn proud of you. I was just surprised, you hadn't mentioned any of it before, so I didn't expect to see you walking the parallel bars when I came into the room.” Sandor told her, trying to express his full sincerity of his actions in each word.  
  
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It just didn't feel right, that's not something to tell someone over the phone. I wanted to be able to show you. I wanted to see you look at me with pride in your eyes, to grin at me, to pick me up and swing me around with your excitement.” Sansa laughed at the end, smiling honestly at him while trying to explain her feelings.  
  
“This was just a huge misunderstanding Sansa. I got done early today, Selmy had paperwork to do, so he cut me loose early. I rushed over here, planning on baring my fucking soul to you. I was planning on walking right into that room, going right up to you, and telling you how important you are to me and that I wasn't going to be an idiot and let this pass me by. But I saw you standing there, and I just didn't know how to react. You were fucking gorgeous, laughing and smiling, and I just felt like I didn't belong here.”   
  
“Oh no. Of course you belong here Sandor. I wanted you there more than anyone else.”  
  
“Don't chirp your sweet words at me little bird, I know when I don't belong somewhere, and that was a family moment I walked into. You should want to share all these moments with them first, they are far better to you than I could ever fucking hope to be.” Sandor had started to argue with her, trying to make her see sense about the matter, but all she would do is resolutely shake her head, and moved her hand that rested on his shoulder to his neck.   
  
He should have seen it coming, the way she angled her body to his, the twinkle in those never ending pools of blue that were her eyes, and how her hand reached behind his neck to pull him more fully down to him as she pushed herself up and off her seat. The moment when her lips finally touched his, he stiffened briefly in shock of her bold actions, but her warm breathe ghosted over his mouth, and when she rubbed her nose against his, all the surprise left his body and a sense of urgency over took him.   
  
Pressing his lips more fully to hers, Sandor wrapped his arms around Sansa's waist, pulling her from her chair and situating her onto his knees. One hand planted firmly on her hip while the other twined itself into her hair, holding her in place as her mouth opened under his prodding. His tongue touched hers with a tentative motion, Sansa making a noise in the back of her throat that only encouraged him further in his exploration of her mouth. Her hands where cupping his face, as she melted under his touch, kissing him with vigor to make up for her lack of technique.   
  
It was different from the kisses in his dreams. It was warm and wet and real, the feel of her hair in his hands and the silver of skin he was touching on her hip, were so much more than his imagination had ever been able to give him. Sansa was soft, her hair held the fragrance of lemons, and she was much more eager sitting here on his lap than she had ever been in the Godswood. Pulling back from her slightly, he nibbled her bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth as he rested his forehead against hers, which caused a moan audible enough to escape Sansa's mouth that he knew they needed to be done, or else he was afraid he wouldn't be able to control himself anymore.   
  
Removing his hands from her hair, he smiled at Sansa while admiring the pretty shade of red her skin had flushed to. Placing one last chaste kiss to her lips, he placed her back down into her chair, while she combed her fingers through the end of her locks, before asking Sandor if he had a spare hair tie, because he had made an utter mess of hers and she didn't want to explain that quite yet to her parents.   
  
“So, does this mean you've decided what you want to be then little bird?” Sandor mused, a teasing grin on his face as he leaned back in the office chair.   
  
“I want to be with you. To be your girlfriend, Sandor. I want you to kiss me like that again, I want to hold your hand in public, I want you to be here when I take my first steps without any help. How would you like that?” She asked, looking up to him through her lashes, smiling like the Cheshire cat.   
  
“If your willing to have me, I want those things too Sansa. Now, we should probably get back to the PT room before your mom sends a search party.” Sandor said, getting up from his chair and holding the office door open for Sansa to roll herself through. When she reached for his hand as they went to enter the PT room, he barked a laugh and leaned down to kiss the top of her head, knowing that this was just going to be the first test of many, but feeling this there was no way this would be anything but worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW! I KNOW! It's been two months since I've updated. My personal life has been a bit chaotic, so I haven't had the free time I'd like to work on my writing projects. But things seem to be settling down, so ::crosses fingers:: I hope I'll be able to make more time to write. 
> 
> And while the last few sentences sound like it could be the end, we have a LOT more story here to tell, so don't get too worried about that. I know this chapter lacked a dream scene, but I promise you all that I will more than make up for that in the next chapter! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented or kudos, or even comment stalked me on other fics, or asked on tumblr when an update was coming. Big shout out to jillypups and littleimagination for listening to my trouble spots and talking me through thoughts and ideas for upcoming plot points. YOU TWO ARE THE BEST AND I LOVE YOU BOTH SO MUCH.


	10. Very Important Author's Note

Hi everybody!  
  
So as you all can see, when I uploaded this I put it as the last chapter, which I'm sure is leading to a lot of questions and general confusion.   
  
Here's the deal folks. When I started working on this idea almost a year it ago, it was mostly an unformed plot bunny that I couldn't get out of my head. It had been a long time since I had written anything, and I was very out of practice with most of this, but I stumbled through it all and pushed on, hoping to produce something half way decent for you all.  
  
In recent month's I've dropped the ball. I'll be the first to admit it, I have found writing this fic to be very frustrating at times. A lot of it is solely things that are my fault, plot points and general story decisions that I have come to not like, and wish to change. So with that in mind, I have come to the conclusion that in order to make this the best story it can be, I need to completely start anew.   
  
I am very slowly working on completely revising this whole fic! I'm very excited to rework this story into something even better. A lot of it will stay the same, but many things will change too. When I have a good chunk of it revised, I plan to post it as a completely new fic with potentially a new name.  
  
Thank you all so much for sticking by this fic! I strive to bring the absolute best that I can in this revision, and I can't wait to have something to post for you all.   
  
Big shout out to my beta sandraclegane, who has been so incredibly helpful and enthusiastic about the story I was trying to tell. Also much love to jillypups and littleimagination for their general support and love! You ladies are the best!   
  
Feel free to drop me a line over at my tumblr [here](http://bex-morealli.tumblr.com/) where I'll be posting about my progress! My ask box is always open! I'll gladly do my best to answer questions about this fic and the changes that will be made.   
  
Once again, thank you all so much for your love and support!

  
  


 


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